#glasses wearing whumpee | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whumpy-wyrms · 6 months ago

Text

The Last Lab Rat #19: Eye Spy…

previous | masterlist | next

content: lab whump, captivity, experimentation, nonsexual nudity, drugging, mind control, panic attack, sensory deprivation, fear of drowning, near death experience, sensory overload, angst, suicidal ideation, winged test subject whumpee, creepy scientist carewhumper

heed the warnings on this one folks… :)

—

Despite things happening to Dew that he was never thought possible, nothing was making being here a better experience. His body and mind were changing without his control, he hadn’t seen the sun in weeks, and despite trying so hard not to, he missed his old life. But the scientist was more giddy than ever, seemingly too enraptured with the experiments to notice Dew’s obvious sinking despair.

That was all it was, now. The same routine. Torturous experiments that left him in pain, dulling and mind-numbing tests, the scientist’s voice describing it all in his tape recorders, and the small moments of peace and comfort he got inbetween it all.

Dew wondered what would happen next. What the next horrible modification to his body would be, how much it would change him, how much of himself would be left when it was over. He wondered how his clone was doing, if his friends even suspected anything. He wondered how long this would go on for, how long he could last, how long he even wanted to last.

The past couple of days, Anton had been working in the lab alone, on something that was unknown to Dew. He’d brought out a giant rectangular tank of some sort, and had been messing around with the strange liquid inside. He refused to elaborate on it, and Dew had no choice but to ignore it.

So he was stuck in his small room, unable to really do anything besides draw, but even that grew tiring. Sometimes Sasha would show up, but they’d barely talk to each other, neither of them really having anything interesting to say.

His eyes felt mostly back to normal by now, and he was content without wearing a blindfold all the time. His third eye felt natural to him, and he almost forgot about it if not for him accidentally zoning out and seeing through objects sometimes.

The scientist had let up on him too, and Dew was allowed to do things on his own again. He was behaving, after all, and Anton wanted to respect his privacy and space as much as he coul, as if Dew was still a person.

He was still a person. Sometimes it was hard to believe that anymore.

“Dew,” Anton said, though he sounded so, so far away. “Wake up.”

“Huh?” Dew sat up and stretched, wings flapping lightly in contentment. Just another morning.

“Here’s your food.”

“Thanks.”

“You experiencing any more changes with your eyes?” Anton asked as Dew ate his breakfast. The scientist was wearing his weird goggles again, today.

“Nope. Just darkness.” He stared off into space, watching Anton write that down in his clipboard. Then he saw the scientist’s heartbeat through his chest. He blinked, and focused on the blindfold. Darkness.

“Hmm, okay. We have a pretty important experiment today. I’m excited.”

“Aren’t they all important?”

“Well, yes, but this one is…” The scientist waved his hands excitedly. “It will change everything, if all goes right.”

“They all change everything…” Dew mumbled, looking to the ground.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Anyway, you can take off your blindfold, you won’t be needing it. I’ll turn the lights out when we get there. Oh, and don’t bother putting on the hospital gown. Unfortunately, clothes will just get in the way of this one.”

“Oh… alright.” So it would be something different this time, after all.

They walked into the lab, and Dew could see the giant glass tank that Anton had been working on for the past few days up close. Getting a better look, he noticed it was filled with nothing but a pitch black liquid. He wouldn’t have thought it was glass at first, but the edges of it were thick and clear, so it had to be. The liquid inside was so dark and opaque, and he couldn’t even see through it if he tried, as focusing all his concentration on it just made his head hurt. This was the first time he’d been completely unable to see through something with his new eyes.

There was a ladder leaning against the tank, and the top of it looked like it could be opened and closed. The tank itself was smaller than the giant glass tube filled with green liquid on the other side of the lab, the one that had always been there but to Dew’s understanding, went unused. This one was just a few feet taller than him, and wide enough to hold his arms straight out in all directions, but not much else. The thought of being stuck in there filled him with dread.

He thought it surely had to do with whatever the scientist was going to do to him today. But he’d stopped spying on Anton’s notes and plans after a while, not caring about what happened to him anymore as the tests on his eyes grew more and more mundane and repetitive. This one though, seemed different. Perhaps he should’ve snuck a peak.

“Ah, yes,” Anton began, turning to Dew with that familiar unhinged, giddy expression. “You’re probably wondering what this is, right?” He gestured to the giant tank while casually leaning a hand against it.

Dew faked a smile. “Yeah.” He found the scientist to be in a better mood when he pretended to care about what he was saying, when he pretended to be happy to be there.

“Of course you do,” Anton said theatrically. “This tank here can hold just about anything in it, it’s very strong, impossible to break through. It can’t be moved from this spot, but it can be lowered into the floor, where it’s usually stored and out of the way. But you don’t have to worry about that, I have another way of making whoever’s inside be enclosed in complete darkness.”

“W-wait, inside?”

“Yes! For this experiment, you’ll be going inside the tank. The stuff it’s filled with is what I’ve been working on. When you go inside of it, it will— well, it’d be more fun as a surprise I think. But it’s breathable. You won’t drown in it, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s perfectly safe.”

Well, shit. “W-what are you gonna do to me?” Dew asked miserably.

Anton adjusted the goggles on his face, making them glow a bright green. He smiled. “You’ll find out soon.”

The entire lab faded to complete darkness, but Dew’s eyes adjusted quickly. The scientist had his night vision goggles on, and was writing something down in his clipboard. Dew waited in agonizing silence until Anton snapped on some black rubber gloves and started preparing a syringe.

“Don’t worry, Dewey. Just two injections. They’ll be over quickly.” The first syringe was huge, almost the biggest one he’d used on him yet. It was filled with a glowing orange liquid, fizzy with bubbles. Anton flicked it hard a few times, and brought it towards him.

Dew was about to ask if he could wear his headphones during this, distract himself with loud music blasting through his ears, but Anton was quick to inject the syringe into Dew’s neck before he got a word out. Pure agony erupted in his veins, just for a moment, but then it was over.

Dew didn’t even have time to process what had happened before Anton was injecting something else into his arm, but a far more familiar and just a little less painful substance than the first. By now, Dew recognised it as something that’d probably make him feel weak and sleepy, a sedative of some sort.

“All done,” Anton said, putting the needles away and walking back to Dew. “Now, we have to wait a little bit for the stuff to set in. In the meantime, you can, uh, take off your shirt and pants. You won’t be needing them.”

“O-oh. Okay.” Dew did as he was asked, and Anton tossed his clothes to the side. “Now what?”

“We wait. Tell me if you start to feel anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Dew said. And they waited. Anton spun in his chair with a smile on his face while Dew stood there awkwardly in the dark, cold and exposed, waiting in agonizing anticipation for something to happen. It was almost numbing, thinking about it, wondering what was going to happen.

A few moments passed, and Dew started to feel strange. His face scrunched up in confusion, then a worried realization.

“H-hey um, Anton?” Dew whimpered, scratching at his arms. “I don’t… I don’t f-feel anything.”

“Good,” Anton mused. “You’re not supposed to feel anything.” He took Dew’s wrist and led him to the ladder.

“W-what?”

“It’ll be okay, just trust me. Now, climb into the tank, Dew.”

Dew stepped towards the ladder, taking apprehensive glances back at the scientist. He put a hand on it, but felt nothing against his palm. “I-I’m scared.”

“Just relax. Climb up the ladder.” Dew felt his body move automatically, the scientist in control of his every action. He watched his hands gripping the ladder and his legs climbing up it, but felt nothing. “Good, that’s it.”

The entire top of the tank was covered by a thick metal lid, with a latch on one side. Dew crawled on top of it, and sat opposite from the ladder. Now that he was free from Anton’s grasp, he realized he was losing more and more feeling in his body. “I can’t- I can’t breathe—”

“You can, you probably just don’t feel it. That’s okay. You’re gonna be okay, Dew.” The scientist climbed up the ladder after him, and Dew sat in place. Anton unlocked the latch, and slid the top half open. Dew could now see the inside clearly, the strange dark liquid only a few inches away from him. He knew where this was going. And he was unrestrained, he could still jump down or fly away from this. But of course, he couldn’t feel his wings either.

While Dew was staring into the darkness of the tank, he hadn’t noticed that Anton started to attach some wires to his skin, long, dangly things that attached to the tank and led to the machines and screens by his desk. Once he was all hooked up to whatever that was, the scientist placed his hands firmly on Dew’s sides, making his hair stand on end. “I’m going to lower you down now, alright? Stay nice and still for me, Dew. Everything will be fine.”

Dew tried to wiggle out of his grip, but he couldn’t seem to muster up the strength. “N-no, please, I don’t wanna do this,” He whimpered.

“It’s okay. This won’t hurt you.” Dew curled into himself as Anton lifted him up, and lowered him down.

Dew expected it to be cold, or warm, or to feel like something, but it felt like absolutely nothing. Half of his body was submerged, but he wouldn’t have even known that if he weren’t looking right at it. His body disappeared under the liquid completely, and the thought of his head being submerged made him want to cry. He grabbed onto Anton’s arms, silently begging him to stop or slow his descent. He tried to kick out, but he couldn’t feel or see if his legs were moving or not, or if they even could. He couldn’t touch the bottom, couldn’t kick his legs to swim, couldn’t keep his head above the surface if he were to be dropped inside.

“Anton, p-please. I- I don’t feel anything. I can’t- I-I can’t even feel my own heartbeat! That’s gotta be bad, right?” Dew let go of Anton’s arms and grabbed the ledge of the tank, scared that the scientist would let go and he’d have nothing to grab on to. “I-I feel like I’m gonna die— I don’t w-wanna die!”

The scientist let go and took a few steps down the ladder, reaching eye level with his test subject. He extended his hand towards Dew to ruffle his hair like he had done so many times before. He laughed maniacally. “Dew, if it was gonna kill you, it would have by now. I would never let anything bad happen to you. You’re completely safe.”

“P-please!” Dew held on for dear life. He couldn’t go under. He couldn’t. “I d-don’t wanna do th-this!”

“Shhh…” Anton said. And despite it all, he still seemed to have a hold on Dew’s brain, forcing him to relax deeper into himself. “Any minute now, you’ll start to get weaker. I recommend getting yourself comfortable in there before you succumb to the drugs.”

“And- and if I don’t?”

“You won’t be strong enough to keep holding yourself up like this. It’d be less distressing for you to go under on your own will. But I suppose it doesn’t really matter; you’ll go down either way.”

“But I…I can’t…”

His words were getting awfully sluggish, and it was becoming increasingly harder to hold on and keep himself upright.

“N-no…”

His eyelids were growing heavier and heavier, and it was taking a great deal of concentration to try and keep his one sense he had left.

“You’ll be okay, Dew. I promise.”

He looked up at Anton with wide, horrified eyes, as the scientist gently pried his fingers off of the ledge, and let go of his hands. Now that he was no longer holding onto anything, and had no feeling in his limbs, he began to sink deeper into the liquid. The last thing he saw before his head was submerged in that pitch dark fluid, was the scientist smiling down at him, the glow of his bright green goggles, and his hand slowly moving the lid closed.

Then, darkness. Complete and absolute darkness. Dew was fully submerged.

He couldn’t feel a thing. Not even the heavy beat of his own heart. He opened his mouth to scream but didn’t hear or feel a single sound come out. He tried to flail his arms, but he had no perception of moving anything at all. His vision was filled with a dark abyss of nothingness, and he definitely couldn’t taste the bile rising in his throat.

He tried desperately to bang on the glass, but with everything being pitch black and his sense of touch gone, it was impossible to know what he was actually doing with his body. He couldn’t tell whether this fluid affected his ability to see through the dark and objects, or whether his sense of sight was gone just like all his other senses.

Dew felt nothing. He felt as if he didn’t even have a body. If he was moving, if someone was talking to him, if he was even breathing— under this strange liquid— he wouldn't know. All he had was his mind, and his terrified racing thoughts to accompany him in this hellish limbo.

Dew felt like he was nothing but a brain in a jar. He felt like he was floating through space with no concept of human existence. No, he felt like he didn’t exist at all.

Wait.

Was he dead?

Is this what death was?

Dew never really thought about what happens when you die. He hoped there was a better place, and that it would be peaceful, but it didn’t matter in the end, because everyone died.

The concept of literally ceasing to exist always filled Dew with a strange feeling he couldn't describe. It was incomprehensible, but he wasn’t against the idea.

But this wasn’t that. Sure, he was floating in nothing but a black abyss, but he still existed. He could still think, and feel emotions, and wonder, and want so, so badly to know what was happening to him.

His life flashed before his eyes. His childhood with his family, his friends, his pets, his hobbies and his passions and hopes and dreams. He thought about happy days, sad days, sleepovers, being alone, camping trips, anxiety, coming out, failing, music, hurt feelings, school, loss, video games, grief, art, regret. He thought about everything Anton had given him, and everything he had taken away. He thought about the lab, his tomb.

Was this really all his short and pathetic life was for? To live, just to die? Just to die here, alone, by the hands of his tormentor during another horrible experiment on him? He never got to say goodbye to his friends or his pets or his parents. He never got to say goodbye.

It felt like an eternity, floating there, wherever he was, or wasn’t anymore.

Time passed on infinitely. He felt himself fading away.

Just as fast as this whole thing started, it ended. Dew opened his eyes— or maybe they were always open— and all five of his senses came back in a heavy, overwhelming wave.

No. He thought. He didn’t want to feel. He was supposed to be dead. He was supposed to be free.

“...ey? Dewey? Can you hear me? Wake up, Dew. Please wake up.”

Dew’s hands immediately flew up to cover his ears, and he squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a pained yelp.

He was out of that horrible tank, laying next to it on the hard and cold floor, and the scientist was looming over him.

And he could feel everything again.

His heartbeat pounded deep and heavy in his chest and echoed through his ears. His eyes were wide and everything was far too bright and intense but closing his eyes meant he’d be back in that dark abyss, and he- he couldn’t go back there again. He felt his wings and their primal, yearning desire to fly, and he flapped them rapidly, feathers slapping against the floor beneath him. It was all too much.

“Dew, Dew calm down.” Anton’s voice was frantic. “You’re okay. I-I fucked it up, but you’re okay. We’re done now, this- this obviously has much more work to be done to it.”

“You said you wouldn’t kill me!” Dew sobbed.

“Hey. Dew, listen to my voice. You’re okay, you’re— look at me,” Anton dimmed the lights in the lab and waited for Dew’s eyes to focus on him— all three of them. “I-I didn’t kill you. Not at all. You- you were just unconscious. You didn’t die, and you’re still alive. You’re alive.” The scientist was stumbling over his words. Dew had never seen him like this before.

“Get the fuck away from me! Let me go! Let me out of here!”

“Okay, okay. Please calm down.” Dew saw the sight of a syringe and began to sob harder, he was hysterical. Anton quickly injected him, though it was hard when he didn’t stop moving. Dew’s struggles started to die down and after a while, he slumped against the floor and stared teary eyed at Anton.

The scientist just kneeled there, at his side, staring at him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Dew slurred. “What the fuck- what the f…”

“Shhh, sh sh sh.” Anton said, and started messily carding a hand through his hair. “Relax, Dew. Calm down. You’re okay.”

“G-go to hell.”

“Shh. Let’s- let’s get you out of here.” Anton picked him up, holding onto him tighter than ever, and carried him to the couch by the kitchen. He laid him down and rested the side of his head to his chest, still clinging to him. Dew laid his head on the arm rest, and used the last of his strength to swat at the scientist with his wings.

Anton curled a hand through Dew’s hair, and wrapped his other hand around his torso. “Dew- Stop that, I’m just trying to make sure—”

“That I’m alive?”

“Yes.” Anton breathed heavily, closing his eyes and listening to Dew’s heart.

“How- how long?” Dew said quietly.

“What?”

“How long did you k-keep me in there?”

“Just, just a few hours, why?”

Tears fell from Dew’s cheeks. “It felt like forever. Like- an eternity. It felt like I was dead.”

Anton just held him tighter.

“I-I need to check your vitals,” Anton said suddenly, but it took him a while to finally move from that spot.

Dew laid there limply as Anton examined him. Sometimes he’d swat at him with his wings. Strange shadows kept consuming his vision and he tried to swat them away too. An icy chill went down Dew’s body as Anton put a stethoscope over his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut. It was all too much. It was all too much.

“Just a- just a bit elevated, but I supposed, that's to be expected.”

“A-Anton?” Dew squeaked.

“Yes?” The scientist turned all his attention to him, like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“P-please don’t d-do that to me ag-again. Please.”

“No, yeah, I-I won’t. I won’t. Never again. I’m sorry. I-I’m so sorry.”

That was all Dew needed to hear when he broke down, grasping at the scientist’s sweater and sobbing into his chest. Anton hugged him back tightly, both of them clinging to one another as if their lives depended on it.

“Just let it out, buddy,” Anton said, rubbing Dew’s back and carding a hand through his hair. “That’s right. It’s okay, Dew. Shhh.”

They were like that for a while, neither of them knowing how long. Gradually, they both started to relax, heavy and rapid breathing turning calm and quiet.

Eventually, Dew fell asleep, and after a while of laying with him, Anton stood up. Running a trembling hand through his own disheveled hair, he went to clean up the mess he’d made. He stared at the scattered papers, spilled liquid, dropped pens and broken tape recorders that were littered around his desk, and grabbed a device. He pressed a button, and watched the giant glass tank lower back into the floor.

What a failure. A failure. But he could hardly think about that now. It’d been hours, it was well into the night; what they both needed was sleep. Tomorrow would be better.

After cleaning up the lab, Anton stood up, straightened his lab coat, and walked towards the couch. Dew was sleeping, body exhausted from the day’s events, but he was perfectly okay. He was breathing steady, blood pressure stable, brain active, healthy. Everything turned out okay. This experiment just needed some improvements, was all. They’d try again. …Or not, that was always okay too. Anton had more plans, better plans, than this stupid, reckless idea.

He picked his test subject up and carried him to his room. Anton lingered in his doorway for a little longer than usual, before saying goodnight, and heading out the door.

. . .

Dew woke up later that night. Everything was quiet, and dark, and cold, just like it had always been. He was lying on his back, blinking up at the ceiling, not able to muster up the energy to roll over and wrap his wings around himself and curl up into a ball and cry like he usually did. He just stared, alone and sad. He was glad he could at least see through the darkness, this time.

Dew moved his arms above his head, under his pillow. He felt the cool, sharp metal of his knife.

He could have used it. But he left it sitting abandoned in his pillowcase, day after day. It wouldn’t have been hard for the scientist to find it, or for Dew to get caught trying to stab him. But neither of them did. It existed, unused, as nothing more than something just to have hidden from the scientist.

Dew took out the knife. It stood out in this darkness, the shine glimmering off of his eyes as he turned it around in his hand. He wasn’t holding onto it very tight, he noticed. He was holding it in front of his face, laying down, staring up at the ceiling. If he dropped it, it would land on him. He’d have a scar on his face he wouldn’t be able to explain. Anton would take the knife away in the morning. Dew tightened his grip.

He closed his eyes. Nothing would get better here. Nothing. He was being good, he was doing everything Anton asked of him. He accepted his life here. He would never leave. This was it. This was it. All the pain and experimentation he had to endure every single day would be his life forever. Dew thought things might’ve gotten better if he just complied, but things got worse, he just fell deeper and deeper into his pit of despair. He’d never leave this place, he’d never see his friends again, and he’d never stop being used as a lab rat.

Dew sobbed quietly, squeezing the handle of the knife until his hand started to tremble. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed the pain to stop.

But he— he couldn’t! Dew had never felt this way before! He didn’t want to die! He didn't!

But he thought… maybe�� he’d get to finally escape this hell for good, and see his parents again.

His ears rang, which made it hard to tell if the humming above him was real or not.

No, there was absolutely somebody humming nearby. It was coming from the ceiling— in a corner by the door. Dew furrowed his brows and tried to listen deeper. It was a tune he recognised, but one he hadn’t heard in a long time. The voice sounded smooth and peaceful, and yet shaky and quiet, almost impossible to hear. But it sounded so real. It sounded nice. He must be hallucinating.

Dew thought that if he opened his eyes, he’d be all alone, and the pleasant, comforting sound would stop. But if he didn’t, he’d never know where that sound was coming from. What did he have to lose? Dew opened his eyes.

His heart all but stopped.

Up in the corner of his room was a person. A whole person, just… floating there, curled up in a ball while their dangly locks of hair floated all around them. Their skin was dark, and they wore a baggy yellow sweater, but it almost looked desaturated. In fact, their whole body looked like it was blending into the darkness, blurry and hard to focus on, but so very visible to him. They were humming to themself, quietly, rocking back and forth in the air as if they were floating in space, or in the middle of the ocean. Their eyes were squeezed shut— but it was hard to tell because their hair completely covered one of them— and they didn’t seem to notice that Dew was staring.

He had no idea what to do. He must be hallucinating. He couldn’t trust his mind anymore— or his eyes; they were all fucked up, changed beyond recognition. He could see through darkness and walls and objects, of course his brain would trick him into seeing things that weren’t there. Or even… see through into…

No. No. That wasn’t possible. This wasn’t real. Dew was being silly, and stupid. He should just put the knife down and go to sleep.

But he didn’t want to.

“Hey,” Dew said, sitting upright and pulling the blanket to his chest. He got no response. “H-Hey.” The person opened their one visible eye and looked at him with a blank, but pained expression.

“Wh-who are you?” Dew asked.

A beat. Their eye went unnaturally wide for a fraction of a moment. “You can… You can see me…?” They asked, and their voice sounded soft, yet pained, echoey, hollow, like floating in a cave deep underground, crystal clear water dripping down from the stalactites into a shallow pool, letting out a drop amidst the silence. When they spoke, it felt as if they were all around the room and yet nowhere all at once, it felt as if they were touching Dew’s mind and yet far, far away.

Dew brought his knees to his chest. “Y-yeah. Who are you?” He asked again, voice wavering. “What’s going on?”

They blinked, and it felt like their eye was piercing into his soul. A wave of hazy emotions flowed through Dew, a sense of longing and comfort and relief and horror and suffering and sadness all at once. It felt like an ache of dread deep in his chest that didn’t seem to ever go away. He felt deep underwater, drowning in the energy that emitted off the person in his room. Dew didn’t know how long the two of them stared at each other for; time seemed to have stopped completely. He felt like the two of them were the center of the universe, deep in an endless void, alone. And yet, it felt so comforting— and horrifying— when they finally spoke again.

“I’m Max…” The ghost said. “The last lab rat.”

—

(max’s pronouns are they/them)

taglist:

@whumpinthepot @shywhumpauthor @whump-me-all-night-long @whump321 @fuckcapitalismasshole

@sorry-i-spaced @theelvishcowgirl @catnykit @tettlod @delicateprincepaper

@rejectedbytheempty @mijajaj @anothertawogsideblog @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox

@parasitebunny @bottlecapreader @thecareandkeepingofwhumpees @inkwell-and-dagger @vidawhump

@thepotatoofnopes @labwhump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @whumping-valentine @whumpsoda

@silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @lumpofsand @cepheusgalaxy @lumpywhump @otterfrost

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

100 notes · View notes

scumashling · 14 days ago

Text

Caretaker and Whumpee's First Meal Together

Past non con drugging, former Whumpee Caretaker

Caretaker has gone to painstaking lengths to make sure every aspect of the dinner is perfect, from the meat to the crispy potatoes to the dinner cocktail. It is, after all, Whumpee's first real dinner since they got away from Whumper, and after everything they'd been put through, and how skittish Whumpee still is, Caretaker wants more then anything for it to be a good one. The dinner is going well. Whumpee talks with their hands a lot, bright eyed and friendly, if a little nervous, a tight smile across their face. All seems well, except as Caretaker digs in they notice Whumpee isn't. They seem distracted, less interested in eating the meal and more into cutting it up into bite sized pieces and shuffling them around the plate. Whumpee is also spending an unusual amount of time observing the glass that holds their drink, holding the beverage up to the light, only taking scant, small sips, as if trying to taste for something.

"Is there something wrong with the food?" Caretaker asks, crestfallen at the idea that the first meal they prepared had failed to impress. Whumpee's eyes dart up, the forced grin they'd been wearing all night stretching further.

"Oh no! You did such a good job, Caretaker! I'm very grateful." They reassure caretaker. Their voice does not sound genuine, words coming out in rapid fire as if they'd rehearsed them in their head. God damnit.

"If you don't like it, I can make-" Caretaker sighed. Whumpee's left hand slams downs on the table before Caretaker can finish, the right still clutching the glass in their hand tight. The way they slightly tremble shakes the table and sloshes their drink, voice quickening to a high pitch. Caretaker detects a strained note of panic, despite Whumpee's efforts to mask it.

"No, no no no, please don't bother yourself with that, you must've worked so hard and I'm so thankful for everything you've done-its just-I just-" Whumpee's eyes zip back to the glass in their right hand, studying the liquid inside.

It has been a long time since Caretaker had been with Whumper. Sometimes, the memories seem so far away that Caretaker wondered if the whole ordeal had happened to someone else, or if Caretaker had simply made the whole thing up. It didn't help that Caretaker had spent most of that horrible time drugged out of their mind, courtesy of Whumper, unable to move, barely conscious yet all to aware of what was happening at the same time as Whumper hurt them.

It suddenly dawns on Caretaker that Whumpee fascination with the glass might not be out of politeness in the face of an inedible meal. They were looking for signs, strange taste, a strange fizz, if the liquid was cloudy, searching for bits of pills or oil floating on the surface. Caretaker remembers doing the same.

Caretaker knows what they have to do. They stand up, striding to the other side of the table.

"Can I see your drink?"

Caretaker doesn't wait for Whumpee's permission before taking the glass from their hand, downing about half of the glass of the dark red liquid, and promptly plucking a bite sized piece of meat off their plate and eating it up. When Caretaker sat back down, they could see Whumpee's eyes had gone wide, their shoulders bunched in anticipation as if they expected Caretaker to explode. They both waited in silence for a minute, until Caretaker offered them a small smile.

"You should try some. It's really good. And you're so skinny."

When Caretaker failed to explode or collapse on the floor and Whumpee was sure it was safe, they exhaled, their shoulders relaxing, and they tentatively took piece of meat from the plate and began to chew. Their eyes immediately lit up in delight and they had another, and another, and another, washing each bite down with the drink until the whole meal was gone.

#whump #recovery whump #caretaker #whump snippet #whump prompt #past whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump blog #might repurpose this for my redo of healer rewrite #caretaking #noncon drugging #past noncon drugging

48 notes · View notes

cookies-and-coffee · 4 months ago

Text

telepathic interrogation (1)

cw: telepathic/telekinetic whumper, sadistic whumper, team leader/defiant whumpee, team forced to watch, psychological torture, interrogation, mentions of broken bones

a/n: this was a prompt that kept me up at night, just because i found it so interesting. the telepathic/telekinetic whump was inspired by a scene at the very end of the book Empire of Storms, part of the Throne of Glass series. TOG as a whole as some really good whump, highly recommend!!

Whumper's power curled around Whumpee's very bones, keeping them still as death. Any shake or tremble from Whumpee, and their spine would shatter from the tension.

A lick of power slicked and snaked up Whumpee's back, wrapping around their throat in a noose. Whumpee gasped shallow breaths, the noose tightening.

Whumper strode in front of Whumpee, smiling wickedly at the team leader on their knees. Whumpee barely noticed their team watching in horror, unable to turn their head from the power threatening to snap bone.

"This is going to hurt," Whumper said with delight, and ripped into Whumpee's mind.

Whumpee tried to steel themselves against Whumper's mind invading theirs, but they still weren't able to wholly prepare when their consciousness became violated in the most intimate sense.

Whumper carved into Whumpee's consciousness, their presence like a serrated knife against Whumpee's thoughts, memories, emotions. Whumpee would scream if they had any breath.

I don't have to do this, you know, Whumper said soothingly, but the sound didn't come from their mouth. Instead, it echoed inside Whumpee's mind, the words reverberating against the walls of their head. Where is Caretaker?

Whumpee shut their eyes, trying to find peace in the darkness, but Whumper just laughed into Whumpee's mind. The sound was deafening, like hearing gunshots from the inside out.

Whumper spoke casually in Whumpee's head, like they weren't tearing a psyche to shreds.

I'm going to get what I want, one way or another.

It's up to you to decide how will be left of your mind when I'm finished.

How much will be left of you when I eventually bring in Caretaker?

They should be proud of how thoroughly broken you will be, knowing you protected them...

fruitlessly, of course.

Whumpee sobbed aloud, the sound secondary to the roaring in their ears from Whumper's violent will. Still, they retreated further into their mind, running from the ripping, scraping, clawing-

They didn't notice Whumper gritting their teeth in frustration, tearing deeper into Whumpee's head.

They cried out in pain when Whumper laid a hand on their forehead. The touch itself was gentle, but the skin seemed to be blistering, like Whumper was trying to burn through the flesh and sinew and bone and brain.

The team couldn't look away, their gaze transfixed on the horrible pain written on their team leader's face, the fists clenched at their sides, the sweat soaking through their shirt.

Whumper was the picture of amusement, save for that glimpse of impatience at Whumpee's determination.

"Does your team know how frightened you are?" Whumper cooed, their thumb and middle finger digging into Whumpee's temples. "That burden you carry... it weighs down every step, wears you to the bone... such delicious fear."

Whumpee whimpered, tears flowing freely, unending.

Whumper reached a wall in Whumpee's mind. "Ah, there it is."

"No," Whumpee croaked, squeezing their eyes shut. That tension rippling along their bones tightened, forcing a shriek of pain from their throat.

No?

Oh, Whumpee, you're so cute to think I'm not going to get what I want from you.

Give Caretaker up, now.

I'm not going to give you another chance.

"No!" Whumpee screamed, their tear-filled eyes snapping open. Whumper lurched back, pulling their hand from Whumpee's forehead.

The pressure in Whumpee's head lessened, but the force trapping their body remained.

Whumper was quiet for a moment, rage crossing their face.

Then the rage dissipated, became something else...

Glee.

Whumper laughed, the sound horrible and dreading. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun."

#whump #whump drabble #whump prompt #whumpee #interrogation #intimate whumper #captivity #beaten #creepy whumper #team leader #defiant whumpee #sadistic whumper

69 notes · View notes

forwhump · 27 days ago

Text

a/n; spoilers for the first three sentences : it’s been haaaaaaaard to always call silas “silas” because he calls himself “seven” for so much of the rest of the story that I get confused when I think about him & it alternates in my head LOL

tw/cw: captivity, medical torture, random acts of violence, gore, amputation, caning

living weapon whumpee

Asset Eleven Seventy Seven, they call him.

Seven, he thinks of himself.

Unfortunately, Seven has no will of his own.

He spends a lot of consecutive time in that small, grey room, in that grey bed, under those grey sheets. Surgeons in black come and go to poke and prod at him — so do doctors, so do nurses, always in black. Seven’s hair is black; everything else is kinda grey, his clothes and his sheets and his pallor. One of his legs is a polished, silvery chrome. Everything else seems to be discoloured scar tissue.

When he gets to leave the grey room, he gets muzzled with iron and taken further underground. They take him to spaces they call arenas, made to look like the wilderness or like cityscapes or desert landscapes, things Seven has never seen, things he doesn’t really understand.

He doesn’t need to. They take him to these places, and they remove the muzzle. The shackles.

They tell him to kill, so he does.

It’s fun. He’d be a filthy fuckin’ liar if he said it wasn’t. It’s the only bit of fun he has. It’s colourful, too. The arenas, too, colours Seven was unfamiliar with, but the colours of violence are his favourite. Splashes of red and pinks and yellows over the endless grey. He doesn’t care for bruising, the blues and the purples, the patterns of them. He doesn’t know why. He’s sure it’s something from before, something he doesn’t remember.

He knows there was a before. They won’t tell him, and he couldn’t ask if he wanted to, but he’s sure there was. Doctors come to poke and prod at him. Soldiers come to escort him downstairs. Before they do, they muzzle him. They strap him down. Soldiers are always standing guard, hovering close when the doctors come to inspect him. They watch him, and they’re weary. He did something before, something probably horrible. He makes them uneasy. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that he does.

Still, he does what they tell him to do. He sits in his little grey prison, and he kills when they tell him to kill. Time passes. He isn’t sure how much.

The cityscape probably isn’t his favourite arena, but it’s where he’s most comfortable. There’s a lot of concrete, a lot of grey. It reminds him of home.

The uniform they give him is black. It’s the only clothing they give him that’s properly fitted to him, a bulky silhouette that he imagines makes him look like a nightmare. Seven hears a lot of last words, and a lot of them are some version of what the hell are you?, or, amongst themselves, some version of what the hell is that thing? Or please, but that speaks less to Seven.

Above him, hundreds of feet above him, massive fluorescent lights in the ceiling act as sunlight. The buildings are all hollow blocks of concrete, windows carved from the walls but hollow, emptied of glass. Seven is allowed weapons during these times, he’s allowed to inflict violence to his heart’s desire, but Seven’s never been allowed anything that might potentially show him his reflection. He couldn’t even begin to guess why. He also doesn’t care enough that he’s ever thought too hard about it.

He doesn’t need his reflection, anyway. He knows well enough. He can see it in the way they always look at him. He can see it in the way the soldier looks up at him from the concrete, his helmet knocked away, his mask bunched up around his throat. He’s crying, and that always makes Seven smile.

Slowly, he pulls his hands from the opened cavity of the other soldier’s stomach, shreds of tissue and his uniform. They wear black, like Silas. It’s almost funny.

Even slower, Silas stands. He takes his time pulling his bloody hair back, tying it into a shitty knot at the nape of his neck with bloody hands. He toes the corpse at his feet over onto the open wound that was once his abdomen. Slower still, he steps over him.

“What the hell are you?” The soldier snivels, pathetic, and Seven thinks, hah.

He crouches next to him. With a shaking hand, the soldier reaches for his gun, and Seven catches him around the wrist. Crushes it.

The soldier screams, flails with his other hand, and Seven takes him by that wrist, too. Braces his other hand against his ribcage. Pulls. The sound is as loud as any alarm, echoing off of concrete and metal, a crack and a wet, fleshy sort of sound as Seven severs his arm at the socket. He pulls it from his torso, threads of flesh and sinew that snap, veins pulled loose and stringy.

The soldier doesn’t scream. The noise he makes is kinda soft and really wet.

Seven digs his fingers into the open wound and he does scream, that time. With a grin, Seven holds him against the concrete and opens his throat with his fingernails. The soldier gurgles, something panicked, and Seven grins again as he pulls out a handful of flesh and his windpipe.

He dies quickly. He dies messy.

Seven stands. Wipes blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. Smears more blood over his face for his efforts. Steps over another body.

There’s a specific target today. Seven doesn’t know why, what the point of any of this is, why they give him rules, sometimes, but it’s more to do than sit in a bland, grey room, so he does what they tell him to do. Today, he’s looking for somebody in particular. They’d had a picture of him, taken in front of a wall that looked a lot like any of the walls in the district. He was a particular threat, they said. Seven should be careful. Seven needs to do everything in his power to make sure that he dies.

Seven finds him in an empty, grey building, one with a lot of windows, a lot of fluorescent sunlight. He’s bigger than the other soldiers have been. Noticeably. Not big like Seven is big, but he isn’t one of them, either. He’s somewhere in the middle, something between them. Seven starts to think he might be in for a better fight, and he’d be lying again if he said he hadn’t been itching for one. Slaughter is fun, but that’s because it’s his only fun. Monotony is monotony.

He doesn’t get a fight at all. The soldier looks up at him, in a black uniform, but it’s different from the soldiers and it’s different from Seven, too. He looks at Seven different, too. He looks at him, and he looks at him for a long time. Seven doesn’t recognize the look on his face. He doesn’t say what the hell are you? or what the hell is that thing?

He says, “Silas?”

He says it with a sort of familiarity that stops Seven in his tracks. He doesn’t look tense, or like he’s scared of him at all. Seven doesn’t think he likes that. He thinks he’s disappointed.

He closes the distance between them and takes him by the throat. The soldier flails, but not for a weapon; he grabs Seven around the wrist.

“Silas!” He says loudly. “What are you doing?! It’s me!”

He’s saying a lot of things Seven doesn’t know, but he says it like he should, and it makes him feel — Seven doesn’t know how it makes him feel. He doesn’t like it. He can’t quite breathe around it, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. His lip pulls back from his teeth.

“It’s me!” The soldier tries again.

Seven lifts him off his feet.

The soldier flails again. Grabs Seven’s forearm. “Silas,” he chokes out as his face starts to purple, “what are you doing? It’s me. It’s Hal.”

Seven can’t explain why he does it, because he doesn’t think about it. It’s an instinct more than anything else, but with a snarl, he drops the soldier on his feet again.

He inhales deeply, covering his quickly bruising throat with a shaking hand. “What the fuck was that?” He rasps.

Seven snarls again. Takes a step back.

The soldier watches him closely. His voice is getting rougher when he says, “what’s wrong with you? It’s me. It’s Hal.”

Obviously, Seven doesn’t remember Hal, and he doesn’t like the way it’s making Hal look at him. There’s something doe eyed and pathetic about it, something pitying, and it makes Seven’s skin crawl with something like disgust and he doesn’t know why. His hands have been shaking since he woke up in that grey room but they shake a little worse with this. Again, he considers killing him. For some reason, he doesn’t. Takes another step back, instead.

“It’s me,” he repeats, eyebrows pulling together in the middle, like he’s hopeful this time it’ll spark something.

Seven angles his head. He doesn’t fuckin’ know.

The soldier looks at him again. Studies his face. “Silas?” But his voice has gone unbearably soft.

Seven’s shaking hands twitch. He takes another step back.

The soldier drops his hand and Seven can hear him swallow. “You don’t know who I am?”

Seven shakes his head once, just barely.

“What the fuck?” He exhales softly. He pulls himself up a little straighter, looks at Seven a little closer, studies him like he’s looking to catch him in a lie. Seven doesn’t think he has it in himself to lie. Did he use to?

Crushed, apparently, by whatever he finds in Seven’s face, the soldier exhales, “what the hell did they do to you, man?”

But Seven doesn’t know. Seven doesn’t know fuckin’ anything, not before and not since.

That feeling he doesn’t like, the one he can’t breathe around, the edges of it are sharp and they wedge under his ribcage and it hurts in a way that’s unfamiliar. Usually, these slaughters they send him on are senseless, violence for the sake of violence. All the soldiers killed in these places had been green, unprepared — they never stood a chance against Seven. It’s never even been close.

Except this one. It’s bigger than the rest of them. It isn’t afraid of him. It remembers him, and it isn’t afraid of him.

Maybe that’s what his problem is. Seven doesn’t remember a lot, but in all the grey time and slaughter he remembers, he’s never come across even a single person who hasn’t been scared of him. He doesn’t quite know what to do with that. What could he have done that the shadow of it is still splattered across the walls and ceilings of this place but this one, lone soldier isn’t still afraid of him? He looks disappointed, in fact. What does he know?

What he says is, “we’ve been so worried about you, dude.”

For some reason, it hurts under Seven’s ribcage just as much as the other thing. He can’t even begin to guess why it hurts.

“You went to find Wren and you just disappeared,” he’s saying, and he says it with a sort of familiarity, like he’s already forgotten Seven has no idea what he’s talking about and Seven feels like he’s out of his element, Seven feels like he’s drowning. “You all just disappeared. Fuckin’ Point’s been gone, too. We thought —,” and he exhales sharply, “we knew something really fucked up had happened to you.”

Seven snorts. He can’t help it.

The soldier smiles, kind of sad, but he has a big smile, regardless. “I’m glad you’re not dead,” he says, and it feels like a punch to the chest for some reason. “Is Wren okay?”

Seven tilts his head.

“Wren,” the soldier says slowly. “Who’s been with you. Right?”

A lot of people are around Seven, pretty constantly. He doesn’t know a single one of them by name.

His face is falling again. “You have no idea what I’m talking about,” he realizes. Seven kinda shrugs, and he asks, “do you remember…anything?”

He heaves a wide shoulder. The soldier exhales like Seven hit him. Seven’s already forgotten what he said his name was, and he couldn’t ask again. It’s guilty, the pain this time, and that surprises him.

“Oh, man,” he says softly. “Wren’s gonna be so bummed.”

The sunlight, leaking in through the windows, turns red. The bellow of the alarms start to pound, so loud it makes the soldier jump as Seven’s lip curls away from his teeth. He’s familiar, unfortunately, with the sirens. His time’s up.

The soldiers swarm not seconds later, and Seven scoffs but kneels obediently to be muzzled and shackled.

“Silas —” the soldier starts to cry, and then he’s gone, dragged from the grey building with his hands tied behind his back.

“What did he say to you?” one of the soldiers hisses, urgent, but Seven couldn’t tell him if he wanted to. Wouldn’t, anyway.

With a growl, he cracks the end of his gun into Seven’s mouth, and Seven quickly tilts his face to spit blood at him before the muzzle is pulled tightly over his face. He smiles beneath it. Makes sure his eyes crinkle the way the soldiers’ always do.

Seven is taken from the arena, but not back to his grey room. He’s taken to a different grey room, stripped down to his grey, thermal pants and led into another grey room, so cramped Seven can’t stand up straight, has to duck his head. He gets shackled to the ground by his throat. They shackle his hands the same. They don’t remove the muzzle. They leave him there.

Seven can’t say for how long. It feels like it’s a long time. It might be days.

Eventually, a soldier joins him. “Did you remember?” He asks.

Seven tips his head back, bored. Of course he didn’t remember. He doesn’t remember anything.

The soldier curls and uncurls his fist. He says, “why didn’t you kill him?”

Seven couldn’t answer that if he wanted to. First, he can’t speak. Second, he doesn’t know why he didn’t kill him. He could’ve; he was bigger than the other soldiers, but he wasn’t like Seven. Not even close. What did he say his name was? How would Seven have known him, if that guy wasn’t one of these soldiers? What the hell is that guy? What the hell is Seven, for that matter?

The caged freak. Was he a soldier once? Was he like that guy? Why would they do this to him? What could he have done?

The soldier clicks his tongue, unimpressed. He’s been leaning hard on a cane, one that he apparently doesn’t need. He shifts his weight onto his feet and swings it up onto his shoulder.

Seven doesn’t know a lot of things, but he knows weapons. He thinks, ah, fuck.

“When the captain gets back,” the soldier explains, “you’ll be disciplined properly. In the meantime,” he says, and he swings his cane into Silas’ back. He can feel the way his skin splits around the impact, but he doesn’t feel himself starting to bleed so much as his back just starts to feel wet. “You’ve been a bad dog,” he says. “Point’s going to be disappointed.”

He swings the cane again. Hits almost the same spot, and Seven can feel the way his flesh splits, all the way through the meat of his back, a pain that resounds in his bones.

It’s probably not supposed to, but it makes Seven think. The soldier strikes him again, a solid strike to the chest, and this time, a steel barb at the end of the cane sinks through Seven’s skin and pulls a chunk of meat from beneath his ribcage.

It’s a pain that's really, oddly familiar, and it makes Seven think. He has a feeling they think that he doesn’t, that he’s incapable of conscious thought, and he can’t speak to tell them otherwise, but it isn't true. He’s left on his own so often he doesn’t do much else but think. He thinks, now, of how familiar this pain is, as the soldier swings again and skins a good portion of his back, peeling flesh back from tissue with a slick sound that’s almost as familiar.

It seems like an overreaction, really. To skin him for his failure? It makes him think. They’re scared of him, much more scared of him than he realizes, probably more scared of him than he can properly wrap his head around until he knows what he’s done to these people, until he knows what it is they remember when they look at him. They’re scared of him, they don’t trust him, and the field test was a lot more than just a field test. It has to have been. It was something else, something bigger, and Seven failed. Seven disappointed them. They didn’t like what they saw.

Why?

He can’t ask, and he doesn’t get a lot more time to think about it. This soldier is just like the other ones, and he’s seeing something in Seven he doesn’t like. He’s trying to get a reaction out of him, and he isn’t getting one. Seven kneels, shackled to the floor, and bleeds quietly, bleeds without a word of complaint.

The soldier doesn’t like that. He swings a little harder, swings the barbed end of the cane into Silas’ neck. Pulls his throat out.

Seven finally does make a sound, an involuntary gurgle. He slumps forward, watching the blood shimmer around his knees, and he doesn’t think much at all as he watches the way the colour shines in the fluorescence.

The soldier groans in frustration. “You used to be more fun,” he says.

He hooks the end of the cane into the hollow of Seven’s throat. It sinks through shredded tissue, scrapes the bone of his jaw from the inside.

It hurts for only a moment.

Mercifully, then, Seven bleeds to death.

When he wakes up again, in that bland, grey room, under those bland, grey sheets, his chest, his throat, and his arms are all bandaged. Beneath, he feels tender and sore. He can't remember why.

52 notes · View notes

whump-in-the-closet · 7 months ago

Note

💊 for the medical prompt ask game!

- @another-whump-sideblog

Forced to swallow pills

thanks for the ask!

cw: misuse of the medical practice, medical whump, noncon drugging, implied pet whump?, absolute fuckwit of a Whumper, implied torture, implied captivity, whumpee is in their late teens but called "kiddo"

Whumper talked with the doctor like she was an old friend, one hand clamped over Whumpee's shoulder.

Whumpee didn't know despair felt like nausea. They swayed on their feet, colors blurring. They knew that under the frigid, fluorescent light of the doctor's office, they looked like shit.

Powerless.

Miserable.

Hair too long and clothes too big, clearly borrowed. They weren't wearing shoes and stood in their socks, wiggling their toes on the tiles.

"Whumpee," Whumper smiled their name, one thumb tracing their cheek.

Whumpee snapped out of it. "Huh?"

Whumper's expression darkened and his grip tightened on their face, squeezing their chin.

Wrong answer.

"Sorry--" Whumpee choked. "Sir, sorry!"

Whumper's grip relaxed and he moved to place a hand on the small of Whumpee's back.

Whumpee stiffened when he pressed down on the fresh wounds. "I said sorry!" The defiance was a spluttering flame, dying out every second it was exposed to the light. It was quickly replaced with terror-- synonymous with Whumper's smile.

But Whumper was talking again, guiding them to the small bed. "See," he said to the doctor. "I can have them ready for service within a week, but..."

The doctor shrugged "It's a tight schedule." She looked from Whumpee, who sat on the edge of the bed, to Whumper. Sighed. "After this, don't bring any more of your strays in here."

Whumper chuckled, and it was a dangerous sound.

Whumpee flinched without meaning too.

The doctor frowned. "I mean it."

"Sure, sweetheart."

The doctor ignored him and started writing down notes on her clipboard. She rifled through her cupboards before pulling out an orange, unnamed bottle from the back. With tired movements, tapped two pills into the palm of her hand.

She crouched next to Whumpee with the pills and a glass of water. "Hey, kiddo." Her voice was kinder than they expected. Calming, like the sound of the ocean in a seashell.

"H--hey."

"You're going to be okay," said the doctor.

They looked up.

Her eyes were brown and exhausted, holding a weight to them that Whumpee didn't quite understand. "Really?" They wanted to believe her.

They wanted to believe her so badly. They were ready to cling on to any comfort, any hope thrown at them.

The doctor dropped her gaze. "No," she whispered, the word escaping without her meaning for it to.

Whumpee shrank back.

"But you should take these." She offered the pills.

The nausea became stronger. Whumpee tried to push them away, shaking their head. "No! I'm not-- I don't want--"

It was no use.

Whumper grabbed their wrists, pinning them behind their back with minimal effort. He nodded to the doctor, impatience edging its way into his voice. "Get on with it. I don't have all night."

The doctor refused to meet Whumpee's eyes as she pinched their nose shut.

It was a brief struggle.

Flailing limbs and black in the corners of their vision.

The pills swallowed.

Whumpee gagged. And gagged again.

Whumper released them, and they doubled over coughing. If they cried, they didn't realize it. They were trembling, limbs hardly their own.

Nothing was their own.

Nothing.

They dry heaved.

Whumper ruffled their hair and picked them up. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

Whumpee's vision slid into shadows and vague shapes. The corners became fogged over and the sudden sensation of being lifted filled their head with white noise-- like the sound of the ocean distorted through a sea shell.

#whump #whump writing #whump prompt #whumpblr #whump community #whump ideas #whump prompts #whump scenario #implied captivity #implied torture #pet whump #just in case #noncon drugging #medical whump #troy talks #answered asks #thanks for the ask this was fun >:)#whumpee is so so screwed dudes #no edits we die like men

139 notes · View notes

whumpisgoodwhumpislife · 22 days ago

Text

WHUMPCEMBER DAY 18

Poisoned

CW poison, unclear character status

Team leader sighed in relief as they ran into a room, finally spotting whumpee. He looked unconscious, half collapsed on the basement's floor, an empty glass next to him.

- Whumpee ? Whumpee, wake up, we're getting you outta here.

Team leader shook whumpee's shoulder as teammate uncuffed his ankles.

Whumpee looked up blearily, and rubbed his eyes tiredly, his voice slurred:

- Oh, hi. Wher' we goin' ?

Team leader didn't respond. Whumper was likely to come back soon, and they needed to get moving now. He grabbed his arm and hoisted him up, dragging him behind as teammate led the way.

Finally. Finally they had their friend back. Whumpee was drugged, it was obvious by his sluggish movement and speech, but it would wear off quickly, medic would make sure of it. Team leader suddenly heard a light thud, and turned back in astonishment, to see whumpee collapsed on the floor.

- Whumpee ? Hey, kid ! What are you...

Teammate turned pale as he rushed to whumpee's side, whose face was flushed, his chest jerking weakly, his mouth gaping as he gasped for air.

- Call medic, now !

@whumpcember

#whumpcember #whumpcember24 #whumpcember24 day 18 #day 18 #poisoned #whump writing #whump #whumpblr

43 notes · View notes

fairyniceyeah · 11 days ago

Text

💎🐈‍⬛When did we normalize danger?

Title from SOS (SEVENTEEN)

Summary: “Hey, Wonwoo-yah”, Seungcheol greeted happily, “how is your photoshoot going?” “Hyung? Can you come and get me?”, Wonwoo whispered, feeling a bit choked up all of a sudden.

CW: emeto, medical issues with the eyes

Whumpee/Sickie: Wonwoo Caretaker(s): S.Coups/Seungcheol + Jeonghan

(It’s okay)

“Okay, nearly done”, the stylist noona announced, fixing a few strands of Wonwoo’s hair before stepping back to inspect her work. “I think I outdid myself.”

“You did, noona”, Wonwoo agreed, laughing at her proud smile. He was at a solo photoshoot to model for The Face Shop again, an activity he enjoyed more than he ever thought he would. The staff was always the same and they were very kind and forthcoming. He had grown quite close to them, as much as work allowed. “Can I keep my glasses on or do I need to switch to contact lenses?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to go with the lenses this time, sweetie”, she said, looking very apologetic though it certainly wasn’t her fault. “Apparently in this studio due to the new lamps the glasses might reflect the light so that the pictures will be useless.”

“It’s not your fault”, Wonwoo protested, already rifling through his backpack to find his contact lens case. Where had he put it? When he couldn’t just find it with touch alone, he completely opened his bag and searched through it.

Yet the contact lens case didn’t turn up.

For a moment, horror washed over him. A hot flush of shame encased his body and he felt his hands start to tremble badly. This was the worst case scenario - normally he was so diligent and reliable. For a reason. He hated inconveniencing others and currently, if he had no contacts, he would either end up accidentally squinting on camera and have to rely on somebody to get around or they might even have to break the contract - an expensive collaboration between their company and The Face Shop - if the pictures didn’t work out.

“Everything okay, Wonwoo-ssi?”, the stylist asked worriedly.

“I … I can’t find my contact lenses. I think I forgot them at home”, he whispered, bowing his head in shame. “I am so sorry.”

“Oh”, she said, “well, maybe your manager has a back-up pair?”

“I … I don’t know. I’ll ask”, Wonwoo said, cursing his own stupidity. Of all the days of this to happen was when there was a scheduling conflict, leaving him completely on his own at the other company. The manager had just dropped him off and then driven away to run an errand or something. It was moments like this that made Wonwoo hate solo schedules with a passion. He would have given a lot for his Seungcheol-hyung to take over dealing with the situation and his Jeonghannie-hyung’s comforting hugs.

Instead, he called the manager, hoping he had a solution.

💎

Fifteen minutes later the manager hurried in, handing over a contact case he had luckily found in the glove compartment of the car.

“My lifesaver, thank you”, Wonwoo thanked him with a deep bow, “I’m sorry for the … well, for everything.”

“No worries, Wonwoo-yah. I really need to go now, though. Remember to take your eyedrops before”, the manager said and vanished again.

Wonwoo took out his eyedrops, putting them in. He hated them with a passion but there was nothing he could do. His eyes were always so dry - one of the reasons he never really wore contacts in the first place, the other his hand tremor making it too hard to put them in - and today wasn’t a good day to begin with. As he unpacked the lenses, he accidentally had a glance at the expiration date printed on the case.

At once his heart dropped to his stomach. With the expiry rate this close to that day’s date it was clear that this was a very, very old pair. If he had to guess likely from over three years ago - meaning that it wasn’t his current prescription. He knew that it wasn’t the best idea to wear lenses that were so outdated and would probably hurt his eyes but he also couldn’t just not wear them. Not after his manager had run all the way down to the car to get them. Not if he would otherwise be a stumbling, blind idiot who should have remembered to pack the right prescription that morning. He’d rather have slightly less blurry sight than go completely without help, thank you very much.

Putting them in was as awful as it always was. It was hard to place them with his hand shaking so much. And, beside the fact that it was just wrong to have something directly on his eyes, he just couldn’t tell if they were placed correctly. After fumbling around for a few minutes, he gave up. It would have to do.

Already he could feel the headache starting.

When he arrived at the studio where they would take the pictures he was regretting his decision. It was even more awful to see less blurry than he normally did. At least that level he was used to. But taking the lenses out again was out of the question.

At least the atmosphere at the set was nice. He had worked with that particular photographer before and liked him well enough. It would be doable. Then he recognized belatedly who the woman waiting for him was.

“Good morning, Wonwoo-ssi”, the director greeted him with a small bow.

Wonwoo smiled at her, greeting her as well. He liked the woman, though she was a high executive for The Face Shop she always took the time to come greet him when he was asked to model for them - like today. It was nice to chat with her and often she would speak about the concept and even watch some of the photoshoot later on. He considered himself very lucky that she approached him with grace and kindness, never once making anything awkward despite his own awkwardness and shyness around strangers.

“I’m sorry for the delay”, he apologized, bowing his head.

“Don’t worry about it. Stuff happens. Sadly, I won’t be able to watch the whole shoot today but I will pop in sometimes to see how it’s going, alright?”

“Thank you, director-nim.”

💎

(No, no more)

Two hours later, Wonwoo was done with the day.

Constantly trying to compensate for blurry vision and simultaneously trying not to look like he was doing it was hard. A headache was pounding in his skull at the same time as his heartbeat. His eyes were extremely dry and stung so badly he could barely tolerate the harsh overhead lights. A dull sense of nausea swirled in his stomach - topping off a terrible day.

Yet, he continued. There was no sense in breaking off the photo shoot now and going back another day. Even worse, the director had come back in a few minutes ago - he liked her a lot, that was true, but he really wasn’t up for any idle chit-chat or for her to watch him as he fumbled his way through the shoot. He knew it wasn’t up to his standard, he knew he would hate whatever pictures the photographer would take.

“Wonwoo-ssi? Is everything alright?”, the director asked out of the blue. Wonwoo looked up, blinking harshly and trying to focus on her. His head swirled for a moment as he tried to adjust himself to look over where the photographer and the director were talking quietly with each other.

He couldn’t bring out much more than a pathetic: “Huh?”

“Your eyes look really red and watery”, the photographer commented, “let’s pull the pictures up on the screen but I’m afraid it will show.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Wonwoo took a deep breath and stepped down the platform he had been standing on for the shoot. Well, he tried to. With his vision blurry as it was he misstepped, expecting a bigger height than it actually was and slammed his foot against the ground. Immediately a hot pain shot up his ankle up to his calf, causing Wonwoo to stumble and drawing a sharp hiss from between his teeth.

“Are you alright?”, the director asked worriedly, hurrying over to Wonwoo who stood rooted to the ground as he tried to figure out if it was just a momentary pain or something worse.

“I …”, Wonwoo tried to speak up but broke off. He wasn’t alright, so much was clear. But he also couldn’t just ask to stop the photoshoot now, could he?

“It’s your foot, isn’t it? The impact looked painful? Did you misjudge the distance or were you dizzy or something?”, the director fretted. Wonwoo didn’t expect her to reach out to him, flinching as she touched his arm.

He could tell he was getting overwhelmed, everything becoming just a bit too much and too big for him. His ankle was throbbing, his eyes and head were aching and he was slowly becoming really dizzy and nauseous from his swimming vision.

The director seemed to take his silence and flinch as a sign that something was wrong, apologizing for scaring him and then adding: “Come on, let’s sit down, okay?”

Wonwoo let himself be pushed down onto the step, sitting down and stretching out his leg. Now that the immediate moment of impact was over he could tell it was indeed just the shock that had hurt, the pain in his foot slowly ebbing away.

At least something, even if he nearly wished that it was instead the headache that had faded.

“I’m fine, director-nim”, he said then, glad he finally found his words. “I think I just slipped. The pain is much better. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Are you sure? That looked painful”, she replied, sounding unconvinced.

“Yeah, I’m good to continue. My foot is fine, really.”

“What’s wrong with your eyes then?”, she asked bluntly. “Wonwoo-ssi, I’m really sorry, even if we wanted to continue - your eyes look really red and swollen. What is going on today? This isn’t like you.”

Wonwoo sighed, not really wanting to reveal his struggle to her. He was still a bit embarrassed about forgetting the contacts in the first place and he knew that he was costing both companies a lot of money at the moment.

“I … I forgot my contact lenses at home”, he started hesitantly, despite his weariness. She had been nothing but kind to him and he really had nothing to win with lying anyways, if they couldn’t continue. He didn’t want to imagine how bad his eyes looked considering how awful they felt. “My manager had some old ones in the car but it’s a really old prescription and normally my eyes don’t do well with contacts anyways. Guess it’s all catching up to me now.”

The director hummed sympathetically. “You’re having a really crappy day, hm? Why don’t you call your manager and go home? I think we should have enough pictures for it to work out. If not we’ll just reschedule the shoot. It’s no big issue. There is no sense in continuing. And don’t you dare apologize again.”

“Sorry”, Wonwoo offered, then sheepishly ducked his head. “I, yeah, I guess I should go home.”

What else was there to be done?

The director even went so far as to grab him something to drink and get his phone so he could call somebody to take him home. As he held his phone in his hand, ready to dial the manager, he was hit with a sudden sense of longing.

The manager was a kind man and he had been with the team for a long time. But …

… if Wonwoo was really honest to himself, he just wanted his hyungs after everything that had happened.

Without further thought, scared he would talk himself out of it if he hesitated any longer, Wonwoo dialed the number and lifted his phone to his ear, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

“Hey, Wonwoo-yah”, Seungcheol greeted happily, “how is your photoshoot going?”

“Hyung? Can you come and get me?”, Wonwoo whispered, feeling a bit choked up all of a sudden.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can”, Seungcheol promised immediately, with no hint of hesitation, his voice dripping with concern, “but Wonwoo-yah, what happened?”

“It’s a long story.”

💎

By the time Seungcheol arrived, Wonwoo was desperate for a hug. He had already switched back to the jeans and comfy hoodie he had arrived in, most of the make-up wiped away. However, no matter how much he had tried and no matter how careful the stylist had been during her tries, they couldn’t get the contacts out.

Wonwoo knew it was a risk - using them with dry eyes always was a bad idea - but now with his eyes burning and watering it seemed to be impossible.

“Wonwoo-yah”, Seungcheol called, rushing inside the room not caring for anything but getting to his dongsaeng.

“Hyung”, Wonwoo replied, his voice coming out shakier and more desperate than expected. He turned around on the swivel make-up chair just in time. Within seconds he was wrapped in a strong embrace, Seungcheol holding him tightly and even gently cupping Wonwoo’s head to his chest with his hand.

“I’m here, baby”, Seungcheol said and Wonwoo could just imagine the worried pout he probably had on his face, the same one he always had when one of his “kids” was sick or injured. Just breathing in his leader’s perfume gave Wonwoo a sense of home, making him grab onto the back of Seungcheol’s hoodie. He was aware that he was embarrassing himself in front of the director and the stylist but for once he couldn't care less.

After a few moments of just rocking them both from side to side, Seungcheol carefully pulled away. Wonwoo reluctantly let him, dropping his hands to his lap and staring down.

Suddenly he was embarrassed. He never should have asked Seungcheol to come - the leader had a lot on his plate and Wonwoo could have easily called the manager. Well, the manager might not have been available but that was a different story. Seungcheol hadn’t needed to drive across the whole city just to collect one of his hyung-line members who was too stupid to remember to pack his contact lenses.

“Ah, ah, I know that face”, Seungcheol said, his hand coming up to cradle Wonwoo’s cheek, “don’t apologize. From what you said I know you had a terrible day and, I’m sorry for being this blunt, but you look awful. I’m glad to be here for you.”

“Thanks”, Wonwoo mumbled quietly, face heating up under the caring attention. It always blew his mind just how much Seungcheol loved them all, loved him.

“Thank you for coming to take him home, S.Coups-ssi”, the director said, stepping over to them in the silence that followed, “I’m the director. Nice to meet you in person.”

“Nice to meet you too”, Seungccheol replied politely, bowing slightly. “Is it alright if I take Wonwoo home now or is there anything you need to talk about with the contract?”

“No, no. Take him. If there is anything we need to go, I’ll call his manager in the next few days. Maybe we got enough good pictures before we needed to stop. I think the most important thing right now is to get his contacts out.”

“They are not out?”, the leader asked worriedly, turning to Wonwoo again, automatically placing his hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder.

Wonwoo shook his head. “I couldn’t. It hurts. I can’t keep my eyes open to get them and with my hand tremor I’m not steady enough anyway.”

Seungcheol hummed unhappily. “I doubt you want to go to the ER. Why don’t I drive us home and then we can try to figure out how to do this? I think Hannie can help. What do you think?”

“Yeah, let’s go home”, Wonwoo croaked.

💎

Getting to the car was a mess. By the time they made it, Wonwoo was shaking all over, vision swimming so badly he could barely see anything but vague lights and he was clutching Seungcheol’s arm for dear life. The headache had not relented and he wasn’t sure if the rolling feeling in his stomach was nerves or nausea.

He collapsed into the seat, too exhausted to even buckle himself up. So Seungcheol did, gently talking to Wonwoo about his day to keep his mind off everything. How he had gotten brunch with the maknae-line members, how Seungkwan and Dino had play-fought over the last egg and gotten so distracted with it that they hadn’t noticed Vernon peeling and eating the whole thing until it was gone. How long and boring the meeting with the company executives was. How he had worked in the studio with Woozi, who had accidentally deleted a sample when he had sneezed and consequently pouted through the whole writing session. How he had been dancing with Jeonghan when Wonwoo had called. It was a nice distraction, enough to loosen some of the tension in Wonwoo’s shoulders.

“Close your eyes”, Seungcheol suggested as he started the ignition, “sleep if you can. We’ll figure everything out, okay?”

Wonwoo hummed in response, taking the advice.

He didn’t manage to fall asleep, however. The stop and go of the Seoul traffic was causing his stomach to slowly turn even more sour than before. It was no surprise, Wonwoo was normally already prone to motion sickness and apparently closing his eyes was the wrong move. Normally he would be fine in the front seat so maybe the issue was that his eyes couldn’t tell his body which motion to expect.

So he opened his eyes only to realize … that this wasn’t a solution at all. With his vision so blurry he couldn’t tell what was about to happen anyway. If anything the bright light was making his eyes burn and his head pound more.

It took about three intersections and the constant rocking of the car when stopping and starting again, that Wonwoo had to admit defeat. Holding out was not an option.

“Hyungie”, he spoke up quietly, hesitantly.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol seemed completely focused on the street in front of him, for which Wonwoo was thankful but he also just wanted him to realize what was wrong without having to speak up.

Today was really not his day.

“I’m … I’m really nauseous.” Wonwoo breathed out. “I think I’m carsick...”

“Oh. Okay. Uhm, try to look out the front … oh…” Seungcheol realized the problem quickly. Wonwoo could imagine the concerned frown of his face perfectly.

“Yeah”, he whispered.

“It’s still about fifteen minutes of driving. I can’t really pull over anywhere…”, Seungcheol said worriedly - probably both for his dongsaeng and his car interior. “Do you think you can hold out that long?”

Wonwoo bit his lip. His stomach was really upset now and his whole body was clouded in the shroud of nausea that made everything feel lethargic and unwell. His throat was tight in a very uncomfortable way and he had to compulsory swallow every few seconds.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He felt close to crying but it was bad enough that he was mostly blind and carsick in his hyung’s car. If Wonwoo started to cry now he didn’t think he could ever stop again.

“Okay, it’s okay”, Seungcheol said, probably sensing Wonwoo’s impending breakdown and resting one of his hands on Wonwoo’s knee. “I don’t think I have a bag. Let’s just put your backpack on the backseat just in case. The floor matts can be cleaned easily enough.”

There was nothing Wonwoo wanted to do less than throw up in his hyung’s car - literally.

He grabbed his bag nevertheless and haphazardly threw it into the back, then leaned straight up against the seat, hoping it would help somehow. Seungcheol’s hand never left his knee.

💎

After a few minutes of deep breaths, he couldn’t help it anymore. He was so nauseous it was painful, his stomach cramping under his hand, the other hand pressed to his mouth. All he could do was swallow and pray.

“Wonwoo, baby, don’t hurt yourself”, Seungcheol interfered gently, “if you need to be sick, let it happen. Maybe you’ll feel better after. It’s really okay.” The leader's attention seemed to be more on Wonwoo than on the traffic now, as loud honks signaled.

“Eyes on the ro…”, Wonwoo pressed out, a sudden gag surprising him. It all happened so quickly that he couldn’t stop it. His body bent forward without any of his conscious doing, a prelude of what was to happen. Spreading his legs was all he could do before he was throwing up onto the expensive interior. He pressed his burning eyes shut against the sight.

“Shh, breathe”, Seungcheol soothed, patting Wonwoo’s back even while driving. Vaguely Wonwoo hoped he was paying more attention to the street now but he was too preoccupied with turning himself inside out to worry too much about it.

His stomach contracted again and again and everything that Wonwoo had eaten spilled down his lips and dripped down his chin. He was so nauseated and dizzy he could barely tell where up and down was, his hands pressing against his head, elbows on his knees, the only thing giving him a bit of orientation.

He felt disgusting, nauseous, sweaty and most of all very humiliated and tired. His stomach was churning relentlessly and he didn’t dare lift his head up for the rest of the drive even when he hadn’t thrown up in a good five minutes. He probably was just empty though, nausea still present nevertheless.

The headache seemed to reach new highs as he sat there trembling all over, sure he would lose any grip he had on himself should Seungcheol take his hand off his back. And indeed, as they pulled into the parking garage of their building and Seungcheol had to let go of him to park, Wonwoo couldn’t help the whimper escaping his lips. Tears and snot streamed down his face.

“Oh, Wonwoo-yah”, Seungcheol said, sounding a bit helpless. “We’re here. It’s gonna be alright. I texted Hannie, he is gonna help us get upstairs. We’ll get the contacts out and then you can go to sleep for as long as you want.”

They stayed like that with Wonwoo queasily bent over his mess and Seungcheol rubbing his back and muttering comforting nonsense until the passenger door was opened and Jeonghan said: “Oh, Wonwoo, baby. Come on, let’s get out of the car.”

With the help of his second oldest hyung, Wonwoo was able to stand on wobbly legs while holding onto Jeonghan for stability. All his strength had left him between entering the car and now getting out and as he could barely open his eyes anymore he was terribly disoriented. It was easier to just close his aching eyes and depend on his hyungs.

“Can you get him upstairs, Hannie?”, Seungcheol asked, voice coming closer as he exited the car himself and placed a warm hand on Wonwoo’s hip. “I’ll try to clean out the car.”

Wonwoo buried his face in Jeonghan’s shoulder, clutching at his hyung in humiliation. “I’m so sorry”, he whispered, voice muffled by the comfortable sweatshirt Jeongan wore.

“Don’t be sorry”, Seungcheol comforted, “it’s alright. You’re not well.”

“Let’s go, hm?”, Jeonghan said, wrapping his arm around Wonwoo’s waist to guide him. “You trust hyung, don’t you?”

All Wonwoo could do was nod and let himself be led.

💎

Jeonghan brought him to the apartment Wonwoo shared with their general leader, Joshua, Mingyu and Minghao. They were all familiar with the layouts of each other's apartments, spending a lot of time just cycling through the dorms but Wonwoo was still glad for the familiarity.

At least it seemed like none of the other members were home at the moment.

Wonwoo was sat down on the closed toilet seat, slumping into himself in exhaustion while Jeonghan bustled around.

“Are you still nauseous?”, Jeonghan asked before a clattering sound signaled to Wonwoo that he had placed down a bucket just in case no matter what Wonwoo would answer.

“A bit”, he admitted, “but it’s now more from my headache than motion sickness.”

“Is it from the contact lenses or something else?”, Jeonghan asked, his voice sounding close like he was crouched down in front of Wonwoo. Indeed, a few seconds later, Jeonghan took his hand and pressed a cup into his hand. “Rinse.”

How did Jeonghan know? Then again, Seungcheol probably had texted him the whole story or at least enough information that Jeonghan knew what was going on.

Playing for time, Wonwoo swished out his mouth with the offered mouthwash, happy to wash the taste of puke away. It was then that he realized he needed to get to the sink to spit it out and he really didn’t want to get up and stumbled his way there.

As if he had read his mind Jeonghan advised: “Just spit it back into the cup, I can dump it out in the sink. You rest.”

Too dizzy and exhausted to fight the renewed embarrassment creeping up on him, Wonwoo did as asked. He felt terribly self-conscious when he pressed the cup over his mouth and let the mouthwash fall back into it but Jeonghan didn’t seem to care. He just took the cup from him and set it aside, then patted Wonwoo’s knee.

“Tell me how you feel”, Jeonghan encouraged, pushing a strand of Wonwoo’s hair behind his ear.

“My head hurts”, Wonwoo hesitantly started. “Maybe because of how blurry my vision is. Or due to dehydration” - a mix of throwing up and crying would do that - “I dunno. My eyes are burning really badly and I can barely see when I open my eyes. I just want to sleep.”

“You can soon, hm?”, Jeonghan said in his soothing voice, reserved for hysterical and sad dongsaengs. If he wasn’t so exhausted Wonwoo would have been offended that he used it on him. “Let’s try to get those contacts out. Pain meds and sleep after.”

💎

It wasn’t as easy as Jeonghan had seemed to imagine. The dryness of his eyes caused the lenses to stick to Wonwoo’s eyes, and the burning pain from the wrong prescription and the blurriness of his vision caused Wonwoo to not being able to keep his eyes open, especially as he closed them reflexively when the darkness of Jeonghan’s finger came close.

After numerous fruitless tries, Wonwoo gave a frustrated cry, curling into himself as much as he could. It was a scary experience - something in his eyes that was damaging them and refused to come out terrifying. Especially with his already fragile state of mind he was slowly becoming numb and restless at the same time.

That was when Seungcheol came in, apparently having cleaned … no, Wonwoo didn’t want to think about it.

“No success?”, he asked worriedly, seeing Jeonghan hovering over Wonwoo, with the latter hugging himself in defeat.

“No.” Jeonghan sighed. “ER?”

“No, please”, Wonwoo whispered. He couldn’t take going to a bustling hospital on top of everything.

“Let’s try a different approach and if that doesn’t work, we will go to the doctor”, Seungcheol decided.

💎

Five minutes later, Wonwoo found himself basically sitting on Seungcheol’s lap, leaning back against his leader and wrapped safely in his arms. The hyungs had decided they should relocate to the couch to create a more relaxed atmosphere which apparently meant that Wonwoo was going to be cuddled. If he was honest, he didn’t mind.

Seungcheol was leaning back against the backrest and had Wonwoo rest against his shoulder so that Jeonghan had easy access to his eyes.

“Are you comfy?”, the leader asked gently.

“Yeah”, Wonwoo mumbled, feeling the tips of his ears turn red. Deep down he loved the doting and coddling but it was weird nevertheless. It seemed so exposed in the living room where suddenly a member coming home from schedules could see.

“Okay, I’m going to put in more eyedrops now”, Jeonghan said and carefully squeezed some of the liquid into Wonwoo’s eyes. “Blink a bit to get it moving around.”

Wonwoo did as bid.

“Ready?”, Jeonghan asked. Wonwoo nodded, for the first time feeling like he could do this. Seungcheol had taken his hands in his own, their intertwined hands a nice weight on Wonwoo’s stomach. With Seungcheol holding him and Jeonghan’s gentleness, maybe this could work.

Jeonghan pushed his eyelid up, which made Wonwoo’s eyes burn. But then he realized it was very dark in the room and he couldn’t even see Jeonghan’s face or his hands.

“Why is it so dark?”, he asked, fear making his chest ache. Rationally he knew he was overreacting but having issues with his eyes and then opening to find himself unable to see anything was unsettling. “What…?”

“Shhh, it’s okay”, Seungcheol soothed, playing with Wonwoo’s fingers in comfort. “We thought it might be easier for you if you couldn’t see your hyungs’ hand coming closer. I promise there is enough light for Hannie to see what he is doing. I thought you heard us talking but you were really spaced out, huh?”

“I guess”, Wonwoo mumbled, feeling a bit ridiculous how he had overreacted. But well, with the day he had, no wonder his nerves were fried. The rational explanation of his emotional state barely comforted him.

“Okay, love, take a deep breath while I wash my hands again. I’m going to be very careful, okay?”, Jeonghan said, his thumb rubbing Wonwoo’s cheek.

Wonwoo nodded and breathed.

💎

All too soon Jeonghan was back. Gently he pushed the eyelid up again. Then without any warning, Wonwoo could feel his hand connect and then: “I got it.”

Tears streamed down Wonwoo’s cheek in relief.

“Let’s do the other side as well, okay?”, Jeonghan said.

This time it wasn’t so easy. The lense didn’t seem to want to stick to Jeonghan’s finger, no matter how he tried.

“Baby, I can’t keep doing this. One more try and then I feel like we need to consult a specialist”, Jeonhan mumbled, sounding devastated. By that time, Wonwoo was so exhausted that he couldn’t care less. Did he want to go to the hospital? Obviously not. But if it put him out of misery he could do it.

“I’m sorry.”

Suddenly faced with the very real possibility of going to the ER and getting prodded by doctors and nurses and especially with having to drive there, Wonwoo did not want that. “Can you try one more time, hyung?”

“One last time, baby”, Jeonghan agreed, “breathe.”

Wonwoo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Do it.”

Jeonghan’s finger made contact with his eye. A cheer. Congratulations. Words spoken in kindness and comfort. Wonwoo just closed his eyes and let the tears fall again. Seungcheol turned Wonwoo so that he was laying on his stomach, on top of his leader who was rubbing his back and whispering sweet nothingness.

💎

Wonwoo woke up hours later to a blanket spread over him and Seungcheol and a hand holding his. His eyes burned and hurt but not nearly as badly as before. Blinking against the low light coming from the kitchen, he found Jeonghan asleep sitting on the ground by their side, leaning back against the couch and his fingers entangled with Wonwoo’s. Somebody had placed a pillow against his neck and he looked mostly comfortable, also cuddled up under a blanket.

Minghao, holding a cup of tea, was smiling at him from the second couch. Soft clatter from the kitchen indicated Joshua and Mingyu cooking together.

Wonwoo sighed and nuzzled his face into Seungcheol’s shoulder. He was cozy like this.

(It’s okay, again)

Notes: Written for this Dialogue prompt idea for @dudadragneel! It’s not June anymore but I finally finished it! Also, based on this prompt!

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Masterlist - SEVENTEEN

#Kpop #Kpop blog #🧚🏻‍♀️#Title from SOS (SEVENTEEN)#emeto #Seventeen #💎#seventeen whump #🐈‍⬛#😇#🍒#whumpee wonwoo #caretaker s.coups/seungcheol #caretaker jeonghan

25 notes · View notes

chiharuuu22 · 1 year ago

Text

Whumpee and Caretaker sat side by side in front of the fireplace. Whumpee leaned his body against Caretaker's body and rested his head on Caretaker's shoulder. Occasionally, you could hear Whumpee coughing.

Caretaker, who sat beside him, embraced him from behind. Caretaker's hands stroked Whumpee's head, shoulders, and back, trying to provide comfort. Caretaker's hand holds a glass filled with warm milk, which Whumpee occasionally drinks.

They were both clad in pajamas, with blankets covering their shoulders and backs. Whumpee wears socks, and Caretaker leaves the soles of feet exposed.

Whumpee looked at Caretaker from his spot, and Caretaker just smiled back. Whumpee smiled back and closed his eyes. He had gone home. He's home now.

#whumpee #caretaker #whump #caretaking #whumpee x caretaker #caretaker x whumpee #whump writing #recovery whump #whump comfort #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump tropes #comfort #warm and comfy

136 notes · View notes

lancedoncrimsonwings · 5 months ago

Text

Make your Whumpees Chronically Ill.

What kind? Do they have Chronic Pain? Chronic Fatigue? Dietary illnesses? Connective tissue diseases? Autoimmune disorders? Something made up or fantasy based? Something else entirely?

What does their day-to-day look like? Maybe they don't need a Whumper to be suffering. Can they take care of themselves, or do they need help? Do they get that help? What happens if they don't? What happens if there is a Whumper using this against them, or a Caretaker who doesn't understand? Make them flare up, then worsen all their symptoms!

For invisible illnesses; Do people believe them when they say they're sick even though no one can see it on the outside? Do they struggle with not being able to see what they feel themselves?

For more visible illnesses; Do they face discrimination and ableism? Do people treat them differently, do people infantalise them? How do they feel about that?

Questions;

What are their symptoms like?

Do they flare up?

If their health worsens, will it ever recover?

Do they mourn the life they had before it got to this point?

Do they have a diagnosis, or even know what's wrong?

What gives them respite?

What makes them worse?

Do they suffer with mental health issues as well, and are they because of the Chronic Illness or a secondary thing to suffer?

Pain;

Neuropathic pain;

Widespread, often nerve based pains from a nervous system disease or disorder

Allodynia- tactile, thermal or mechanical allodynia, even the lightest touch can hurt, and your skin feels raw and bruised. Pressing on it hurts deeply, to the bone. Pain can worsen with temperature fluctuations, warm and/or cold.

Parasthesia- peripheral neuropathy, partial or full numbness, tingling, pricking, vice like or lightning-like pains, weakness in the affected areas. Can worsen with compression, such as restraints or stress positions, and can come and go.

Nociceptive pain;

Somatic sharp pain that's localised to the affected area and can be caused by long term, unhealing or reocurrent damage and injury

Visceral aching pain that's widespread and can be caused by systemic disease

Inflammation- hot, aching pains that throb incessantly, seizing joints and knotted muscles, brain fog, headaches and sluggish thoughts, stabbing tendons and sharp pain in ligaments, swelling, tenderness and redness

Dislocations, subluxations and connective tissue weakness, weak joints that can contort beyond what is normal, soft skin that bruises breaks and scars with ease, never ending joint pain, grinding bone against bone and broken cartlidge, permanently altered movements from ligament damage, agonisingly powerful sharp stabbing pains at certain movements

General:

Pain that's worst when waking. Pain that gets worse throughout the day. Pain that's worse in heat or in cold, pain that changes with the weather

Dissociation as a way to cope with the pain, to the point when they realise just where hurts it's like being hit by a truck. Depersonalization to the point they don't know who they even are, they don't feel alive, these limbs are not their own. Derealisation to the point reality feels like it's taken a step to the left, like they're a ghost and the real world is behind a pane of glass. Both blanketing over them in a desperate attempt by the brain to stop the pain that would have them screaming without it.

Pain that they no longer respond to, what's the use in screaming when it never ends. Chronic pain that masks the acute pain of injuries they didn't realise you had. (Ask me how I know...) Chronic pain that has medical professionals shocked at how little they react to things that cause severe pain. Chronic pain that wears down their tolerance for everything else, that makes them snappy, irritable and angry.

Vice like pains, twisting clawing tearing inside muscles, pain when they move, speak, even breathe.

Pain that never ends and isn't touched by most medications. Pain that IS helped by some medications, but the side affects are terrible, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, hallucinations, bladder and bowel issues, slurred speech and a hazy mind

Pain they cannot see that drives them to hurt themselves on purpose just to feel in control of it, just to be able to see what they feel upon their skin

Pain that will make them do anything for it to stop, pain that takes their hope away, robs them of their dreams, makes them want to end it all

Fatigue;

Fatigue that drives a haze over their brain and tears their memory to shreds. Slurred words, sentences said in the wrong order, fatigue that has neurological bases. Fatigue that turns a once sharp mind into a rambling incoherent mess. The ability to read, write, speak, listen all taken away, so the world becomes an incoherent mess too.

Fatigue that causes insomnia, so they end up physically exhausted AND fatigued at the same time

Fatigue that's worsened with light, sound and being upright, and can only be managed by aggressive resting, lying still in the silent darkness.

Fatigue that comes in waves, fatigue that flares if they overexert; Post Exertional Malaise, limbs weak and pumped full of lead, tachycardia, inability to stand or walk, inability to eat, think, drink, speak

Fatigue that feels like the flu, fever, swollen glands, hoarse throat and blood pressure dysregulation, fainting and dehydration

Dark circles under eyes that only seem to worsen over time. Weight loss and muscle wastage, ability draining away.

Fatigue that feels like dying whilst alive, that no one understands, that isolates until there's nothing left. Fatigue that strips of everything that made them who they were, until they are just a shell of a living thing.

Make your Whumpees Chronically Ill.

Sincerely, a Chronically Ill fuck who is suffering far too much today and wants to see more representation.

This are purely based on my own experiences, and is by no means exhaustive, hell, I've only scratched the very surface of my own chronic illnesses here.

Feel free to add to this!

#whump #disability whump #chronically ill whump #disability writing #chronically ill writing #chronic illness in media #disability in media #disability representation #chronic illness representation #whump writer #pain whump #fatigue whump #whump prompt

35 notes · View notes

belovedwhump · 4 days ago

Text

Beloved Whump Prompt #10

Near-sighted Whumpee trying to find Caretaker in a crowd without their glasses, but Whumpee can't tell if the blurry face is actually Caretaker?

Bonus: Caretaker and Whumper have roughly the same height, shape and colors - is that blurry shape Caretaker or Whumper??

#beloved whump prompts #whump prompt #whump ideas #whump scenario #near sighted whumpee #glasses wearing whumpee

23 notes · View notes

asianwhumpgalore · 2 months ago

Text

xxxHOLiC (ホリック xxxHOLiC) | Jmovie | Whump List

Genre: Thriller, Mystery, Drama, Supernatural, Fantasy, Suspense, Investigation

Synopsis: High school student Watanuki Kimihiro has the ability to see spirits and monsters but is actually plagued with them. Coming home one day, he’s once again assailled by evil apparitions but his feet lead him to a strange shop. There he encounters Ichihara Yuko, the mysterious owner who offers to grant Watanuki’s wish to be rid of the spirits. But the price must be of equal value, so Watanuki has to temporarily work for her in her shop that grant wishes. Thus begins his adventures in an world full of supernatural experiences.

Length: 1hr, 50 min

Whump meter: ▲▲◭△△

✨A whimsical dark surrealist fever dream in the best way possible. Visual stunner and very unusual.✨

⚠️Trigger Content: Blood, fantasy violence, some SA ⚠️⚠️Some SPOILERS will be found, proceed with caution⚠️⚠️

Whumpee: Watanuki Kimihiro portrayed by Kamiki Ryunosuke

00:45 | Running away from a dark force/energy, fighting against it, continues running away.

32:30 | Struck in the chest by a dark forced while trying to save someone, falls to the ground, darkness crawling up his neck, clutching chest, groaning, concern for him, writhing on the ground, labored breathing, struggles to get up only to fall onto his knees, whimpering, held | Bridal carried | Neck seen bandaged.

45:30 | Concerned for friend, grabbed by dark force, levitated into the air and throw off stairwell, concern for him, falls 3+ stairs into stacked glass, (in world) lying unresponsive, eye 'pulled out' (not graphic), screaming out in agony. (back in reality) Bloody hand bleeding onto white floor, wakes up wearing an eyepatch, seemingly not hurt, confused as to what happened.

48:15 | Reaches into pool of water and the dark force grabs him and pulls him under, (presumably in vision) lying in the rain, witnessing the death of his mother again, screaming, falls to his knees, wakes up suddenly.

01:08:50 | (continuation from fall scene recalled by a character) hand bleeding excessively, glass on his body, bleeding from the head, concern for him, held up by friend, struggling to speak, apologizing, unconscious, taken to be treated, bloody eye (non graphic), lying unresponsive on couch, flinches when eye is 'replaced'. (back in present) concerned for friend, guilty.

01:18:00 | Manhandled, pushed and thrown onto the floor, cries out in pain, clutching chest, writhing on the floor, pulled to his feet by his clothes, mocked and taunted, arm twisted behind his back, groaning, panting, choked, shoved onto the floor, dragged across the floor by his jacket, thrown, rolls across the floor and hits the wall, groaning, stepped on, thrown against friend, on the ground, dragged across the floor telekinetically, struggling to resist, concerned for friend, (in alternate reality) bound in a web made of red string. [01:25:16] Pierced by the red string and it starts tightly binding up his entire body and head, screams out in pain. Saved.

01:32:34 | Attacked by dark force, struggling to shoot a magical bow, screams, falls to the ground, panting.

#asian whump #whumplist #whump list #whump #jmovie #japanese movie #xxxHOLiC #ホリック xxxHOLiC #kamiki ryunosuke

33 notes · View notes

3-2-whump · 2 months ago

Text

Khaled’s Backstory, Part 3: Betrayal

<prev

Thanks again @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for beta reading the third and final part of Khaled's backstory. This particular incident takes place a handful of months before the beginning of the Eternal Story

Breaking out the fun tags again!

TW/CW: kidnapping, noncon drugging (injection), forced to hurt another, reluctant whumper, minor whump, multiple whumpees, slave whump, captivity whump

His mother raised one skeptical eyebrow as she watched her eldest son burst out of the bedroom, rush into the bathroom, and emerge into the kitchen with high spirits. “Good morning, Khaled,” she greeted, tone laced with suspicion.

“Good morning, Ammi,” Khaled yawned back.

She passed him a plate of reheated khagina with roti and a glass of milk. “Early start today?” she asked. It was unusual for her eldest to rise any time before 11:00, and here he was, practically vibrating with energy at 10:00.

Khaled nodded as he stuffed his face full of food. What had once been a one-time favor was now the third photoshoot he’d be doing. Turns out, Shazia’s agent and photographer asked him to come back for another photoshoot after the first time. The photographer said he ‘liked the kid’s energy,’ and Shazia’s agent said ‘he has a face that could sell’ (whatever that meant). All he knew is that he got to wear new clothes and shoes and pose with a football in the middle of a grassy pitch while some middle-aged guy with a camera snapped pictures. So, he came back for another, and planned to go back for another this morning.

He caught the judgmental look in his mother’s eyes. “Ammi, it’s fine,” he reassured her through a mouthful of food. “Look at the pay, huh? I make in one morning what I make after a week of work!”

“The money’s not important, you know I don’t like it!” Ammi emphasized. Khaled ignored her as he threw back the glass of milk all in one gulp. “You know this is how children like you go missing!” she warned him.

“Yet I’m still here,” Khaled shrugged, setting down his plate and glass before going to the entrance to retrieve his key and his shoes. He turned back to say his goodbyes before he left. “See you tonight!”

“Be careful, beta!” She called out as he ran out the door.

Something was different today. No, not different, something was wrong. Shazia met him at the football pitch in the park all by herself, with swollen red eyes and a runny nose as if she’d been crying. She cast him a wobbly smile and waved to him as he approached. “Khaled!”

He ran closer to her to bridge the distance between them sooner. “Shazia, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He looked around, noticing that she was on her own, then back at her. “Where is your agent?”

“He’ll be here soon, it’s just-” she hiccupped on a suppressed sob. Khaled didn’t wait for permission as he gathered her in his arms and hugged her. He rubbed her back as she cried, whispering small reassurances like he would when he calmed his little sisters down from nightmares. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something behind her ear. It was a tattoo, kind of like a barcode.

A sharp, pricking pain jabbed him in the side of his neck, making him jolt in his friend’s arms. He lightly struggled, trying to pull away from her as she hugged him closer, whispering an “I’m sorry” into his ear. His confused thoughts started to muddle, then they cleared until there was nothing much in his head at all besides sensations. His limbs suddenly felt heavier. His struggles lessened and slowed down to a few involuntary twitches. His tongue felt thick and uncooperative within his mouth as he tried to ask what she had done to him and all that came out were a few stuttered noises. Everything was so heavy as he leaned into her with his whole weight. He felt tired, so tired, why was he so tired? It sounded like someone was yelling, but distantly and unintelligibly, as if he were under water. As Shazia brought a hand up to his head to encourage Khaled to lean onto her shoulder, her dupatta slipped, revealing two faint, prong-like scars on the side of her neck. Those strange scars were the last thing he saw before his eyelids shuttered closed. Tried as he might to stay awake for whatever came next, Khaled couldn’t help but give in to the blissful unconsciousness tugging him into the void.

He reawaked what seemed like hours later, though it was hard to tell in the dimly lit … Where am I? Khaled thought, coming back into his body. He was laying on his side on a stiff cot. He blinked his eyes to adjust them to the darkness of the tiny unfamiliar room. There were bars where a door should’ve been, and four more kids dispersed throughout the small cell-like room. Panic surged within him, but the heaviness of slumber and whatever he’d been injected with weighed him down onto the cot. The realization that he could hardly move made his heart race even more, as he never felt so vulnerable before in his life. Distantly, he could hear whispers and crying all around him, though he could not pinpoint where it was coming from. The sounds only added to his panic. His head throbbed, and it felt as if the room was swaying. Why can’t I move? Where am I? What’s going on? Is Shazia okay? He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. Even thinking hurt too much. So, with nothing else to do, he opened his eyes again and observed his cellmates.

A girl sat slumped against the wall next to Khaled’s cot, curled over with her head between her knees, and a boy around his little brother’s age sat next to the bars of the cell door, listlessly staring out of it. Another boy and girl were huddled in the far corner of the cell, the girl crying softly into the boy’s shoulder and the boy trying not to cry for her sake. They were about the same age as Ayesha and Yusuf. “What’s going to happen to us?” she sobbed. The idea of his younger siblings ending up in a place like this made him feel sick. “Will our family ever know?” He willed himself to sit up on the makeshift bed, with nothing on his mind but to comfort these kids that reminded him of his siblings. “Will they ever find us?”

Khaled swayed off the bed and staggered toward them. His head swam with the aftereffects of the sedative. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, placing a gentle hand on both of their shoulders. The girl sniffled as she tried to regain composure.

The boy answered for her. “She got you too, didn’t she?” he asked bitterly.

Khaled furrowed his brows. “Who?”

“Girl with the blue eyes? Great hair?” he clarified.

A magenta pink kurta flashed in Khaled’s mind. “Shazia?”

The girl next to him perked up at her name. “She told me her name was Layla.”

The other girl slumped against the wall looked up from her lap. “That’s what she told me, too.”

The other boy at the cell bars turned around to face them. “It doesn’t matter what false name she assumed! The point is, that girl tricked us!” he spat.

Khaled shook his head, despite the throbbing sensations that wracked in his skull from doing so. “What? No, that can’t be,” he denied. The dreary setting that he now found himself in contradicted him. “She’s a nice girl, this must be a mistake!” he defended, despite the fuzzy memories of her sticking him with something sharp.

A clanging noise sounded from somewhere to their right, followed a creaking sound of metal on metal. A sharp beam of light preceded a shadow stepping into their prison, revealing more prison-cell arrangements across from them within the strange room they inhabited. The light was extinguished once more as the metal door clanged shut. Stopping in front of their cell door was a familiar girl in pink, holding a lantern, looking grimly at her victims. Her dupatta was gone, revealing a series of disfiguring, prong-like scars around the circumference of her neck.

The other four cellmates merely glared at her. The boy who was sitting by the door quickly backed away. Khaled however abandoned any sense of pride he had to throw himself at the bars of the cell door. “Shazia! There you are, you’re safe!” he cried with relief. “Please, tell them it’s not true, tell them that it’s a mistake, that you’re not the reason we’re trapped down here!”

She lowered her blue eyes in guilt, her silence answering for her. In the faint glow of the lantern, her pink kurta appeared blood red.

Something in Khaled’s chest panged, as if he could feel his heart break in real time. “Shazia?” he whispered.

“I’m sorry.” Her sad blue eyes glanced at all of them, then went back to Khaled. “I had no choice.” Khaled’s eyes flitted to her scars. “I never would’ve deceived you all if I could’ve avoided it.”

The girl who had curled up in the corner now stood up and raised her hand accusatorily. “Well, an apology isn’t going to free us, is it, bitch?!”

“Hey! None of that!” Khaled snapped.

Shazia visibly flinched at the words, but she held her ground. “I’m not even supposed to be here, but I came to apologize, and to warn you. You five, as well as the groups we picked up in Mumbai and Bangkok, are going to be sold. I don’t know where, I don’t know when. My masters don’t tell me these things. Just, when they come for you, do what you’re told and it’ll hurt less” she advised.

A series of questions erupted over the five captives, each question overlapping over the other.

“What do you mean ‘they’? Who are ‘they’?”

“Why did you trick us?”

“Are you coming back?”

“Why us? What’s so special about us?”

“What did they do to you?” Khaled asked.

Shazia did not respond. She turned her back on them and retreated towards the exit, taking the glowing lantern with her. The intense ray of light that came when she opened the door to leave was the last shred of light the captives would see for a long while as they were left in the darkness with their unanswered questions.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

#whump writing #my ocs <3 #oc backstory #tw kidnapping #noncon drugging #tw injections #minor whump #captivity whump #slave whump #reluctant whumper #forced to hurt another

29 notes · View notes

simply-whump · 9 months ago

Text

Legend of Shen li (与凤行) - Whump List

Whumpee : Xing Zhi played by Lin Geng Xin

Synopsis : Shen Li is ordered by the Immortal Lord to fulfil an alliance marriage to a member of the Divine Clan. This concerns the peace of both realms, who have been at war for a long time. She refuses and while the guards give chase, she is wounded and falls into the mortal realm. Xing Yun is an aloof, lonesome man who helps treat her injuries. This peculiar human enjoys pranking her and loves hiding secrets. Through their time together, Shen Li begins to understand just how frail mortals are, and to repay his kindness, she decides to protect her sickly saviour. (MDL)

Genres : Romance, Wuxia, Fantasy, Historical

Warning! Possible spoilers below!

Xing Zhi / Xing Yun

Ep 1 : (13:40) Coughing, feet got numb — (26:43) Coughing up blood

Ep 2 : None

Ep 3 : (11:22) Falls into the water, saved (comedic) — (19:10) Kicked to the ground, manhandled — (23:13) Thrown to the ground, whimpering, exaggeration his injuries (comedic) — (26:10) Pretends to have a headache (Comedic) — (31:20) Wearing a sling

Ep 4 : (15:45) Splashed with hot tea, at sword point, in pain

Ep 5 : (28:24) Hand slightly injured — (32:12) Coughing after inhaling some weird smoke, nauseous (comedic)

Ep 6 : (08:00) Coughing, hand injury became worse, unwell, on one knee, pretends he’s alright — (17:05) Coughing, coughing up blood, injury discovered, concern for him — (19:00) Unwell, injury superficially treated — (27:23) Weak, starting to get healed with magic, interrupted — (33:03) Taken hostage, at sword point, protected, coughing, dying

Ep 7 : (02:25) Saved with magic

Ep 8-9 : None

Ep 10 : (26:04) Magical injury on his arm

Ep 11 : (10:09) Overexerted himself, coughing, stumbling

Ep 12-22 : None

Ep 23 : (34:15) Learns that someone he cares about has died, shocked, lashing out

Ep 24 : (04:45) Using a lot of power for something he shouldn’t do, struggling, struck by lightning multiple times, keeps going (my man is freezing a whole ocean, grabbing lightning by hand then freezing the lightning and the sky itself, all for a woman), bleeding, walking unsteadily — (15:55) Spitting blood, collapses to his knees, concern for him — (17:58) Tries to get up but collapses, passes out — (18:51) Unconscious in bed

Ep 25 : (22:26) Still unconscious, wakes up

Ep 26-27: None

Ep 28 : (10:21) Wound on his back shown, treated with magic

Ep 29: None

Ep 30 : (25:35) Bleeding, concern for him — (31:00) Old injury flaring up

Ep 31 : (35:50) Hit again on his injury

Ep 32 : (16:27) Using a lot of power, coughing up blood, visibly in pain — (22:22) Spitting blood, concern for him

Ep 33 : (Flashback) (04:48) Stepping on glass shards, drunk

Ep 34-35 : None

Ep 36 : (09:07) Using a lot of power, bleeding — (32:10) Using a lot of power, blood at his lips, back cut — (35:30) Fighting, shoulder cut, spitting blood — (36:37) On one knee looking pretty roughed up, concern for him

Ep 37 : (04:30) Using himself as a shield and using his powers while heavily injured — (15:35) Walking unsteadily, heavily injured, bleeding, collapses to his knees, coughing blood, using a lot of power, struggling, exhausted — (32:51) Thrown to the side

Ep 38 : (02:25) Injured and exhausted, spitting blood, stumbling, concern for him, collapses into his loved one arms, dying, more blood coughing and collapsing, crying, dies — (30:30) Comes back to life

Ep 39 : (06:06) Cold (comedic)

>> More Whump Lists

#the legend of shen li #whump list #whump #asian whump #cdrama #chinese drama #lin gengxin

59 notes · View notes

ccieatchildren · 2 years ago

Text

Scars

Shower steam filtered in through the open bathroom door, warming the bedroom and permeating the smell of soap in the air. They had been reapplying ointment, what little he had given them, to their still healing wounds and rebandaging them. Whumpee turned from their spot on the edge of the bed to watch as he walked in. There was a certain swagger to the way he carried himself that they despised. However, while Whumpee hadn’t been here for long, they had already learned not to engage with him if they didn’t have to– it wasn’t worth the risk– so Whumpee just stared.

A towel was slung low around his waist and his hair was still damp, leaving droplets of water in his wake. His half naked body was on full display, and Whumpee couldn’t stop from curiously analyzing each part of him. They typically didn’t get to see much of him due to clothing or dark lighting getting in the way, but now they could see the various scars littering his frame.

There were two slash marks on his lower right abdomen that formed an uneven cross, a line of indented flesh that seemed to encircle his whole left bicep, a bullet wound sat right above on his shoulder, and on his right collarbone were four deep cuts, almost like claw marks. Whumpee hadn’t expected someone like him to have so many cicatrices, he was a simple researcher, and while they did get hurt sometimes, they typically were small cuts from broken glass or chemical burns. They had their own to confirm. Furthermore, normal villains usually had many more lesions and blemishes across their figures from many fights and powers going haywire. Though, he wasn’t like many normal archetypes anyway.

Their train of thought was cut off by a deep chuckle. “Like what you see?”

Whumpee blushed, glaring at him, and turning back to what they were initially doing. He continued to snigger at their embarrassment while they furiously tried to refocus on patching themself up. The thought of the line being cliché and overused made them feel a bit better, and they continued to bash him in their head to calm themself down as they worked.

The rustling of a towel could be heard as he dried off his hair, sounding like a wet dog shaking itself dry. Then, they could hear him shuffling in the background, presumably fetching clothes from the closet. Whumpee tried to keep their gaze solely on what they were doing, but could no longer concentrate on their task. Having been caught staring, and him misinterpreting their attention, irritated them, but now they were even more curious. Forcing themself not to look, only made them want to look more. Whumpee cursed themself for having the self restraint of a five year old…

Slightly pivoting their head to peek at him again as he picked out his attire, they barely managed to stop themself from gasping at the sight. His back was still turned to them, and scrawled there was one of the most unsettling wounds they had ever seen. Along his upper back, spanning from the left shoulder to the right the word “BASTARD” was carved in large letters. The raised skin along his shoulder blades conveyed that the cut had healed long ago, but whoever had done it, made sure to slash deep enough so the mark would stay there forever. They had seen many things, from their own burnt skin melting off, to arms completely torn off, but the deliberately and aggressively engraved swear on his body disturbed them in a way they had never felt before.

Whumpee had never met anyone, villain or otherwise, who intentionally and methodically cut someone in a way that would leave them alive but always wearing a reminder of their experience. Especially in a way that exuded so much wrath and resentment. At least not until Whumper. They looked down at themself and the injuries that adorned their body. Was he using the same techniques on them that someone else had used on him? The thought made them shiver. Vigorously returning to their task, Whumpee swore to themself that they would not allow Whumper to scar them like he had been himself.

— — — — —

“Just ask.”

Whumpee flinched. They had just finished one of their sessions and Whumper decided to patch them up afterwards this time. They would much rather do it themself, as his hands would always roam to places they didn’t need to, but Whumper would use better medicine whenever he played medic, and knew how to bind the wounds tighter than they ever could with their, now constantly, trembling fingers. They also weren’t allowed to say no to him.

“W-What?”

“I can practically hear the questions bouncing around in your head.” He suddenly pulled the bandage harshly, pulling a gasp out from them. “Not to mention the hole you’re burning into my back with your staring.” The hand on their middle considerably tightened, “it’s starting to piss me off, so ask.”

Whumpee contemplated his demand, unsure if he meant it or if it was just another one of his tricks, baiting them to make a mistake just so he could beat them again. But they could feel him getting agitated behind them, therefore they had to say something. However, Whumpee didn’t think asking him what was really on their mind would go over very well. They had to think of something quick, but, unfortunately, when it came to talking they didn’t work very well under pressure. So…

“How do you get your hair so sleek?” Whumpee wanted to smash themself over the head with a glass. This was the best their brain could come up with? Might as well say goodbye to a calm evening.

Whumper was still behind them, and they were already saying their prayers, until he barked out a laugh. “What?” The amusement pervaded his tone. “You have been ruminating for the past three days on how I do my hair?”

“… Yes.”

He continued to cackle behind them as Whumpee quietly panicked, hoping that was enough to quell him.

“Aww, that’s cute, darlin’. Didn’t know you still had the quips in you.” He took a moment to pretend to wipe a tear from his eye. “But I don’t think that’s what you’ve been thinkin’ about.” Arms locked around their waist, pulling them flush against him. A dark voice whispered in their ear, “Now, I’ve indulged your little game,” his arms constricted, pushing into their stomach, agitating their injuries, “letting you figure out the best way to approach this,” Whumpee looked away. “If I’m honest, it was quite nice to see you contemplate whether to ask me or not,” his voice grew smug, “it means you’re learning, becoming more obedient, which will only make things easier for the both of us in the future.” Whumper squeezed even further once again, and they groaned from the pain. “For that, I’m giving you an out. Be good and I’ll reward you. So,” he growled, “ask the damn question.”

Whumpee gulped. “Fine. Ju- Just let go,” they pushed at his arms, “it hurts.”

Whumper clutched them tighter. Whumpee could feel some of their wounds reopen under the pressure. “I’ll let go when you stop wasting my time.”

“Okay, okay,” they wheezed. “I just wanted to know about the large scar on your back,” the ache was getting worse. “The one that says bas–.”

He abruptly let them go, allowing air to filter back into their system and dampening the pain to a dull throb. “I know the one.”

Whumpee froze, trying to suppress their oncoming coughing fit. They didn’t want to set him off when he was obviously very displeased. He curtly got up and headed for the door, leaving them with the final words,

“Do not bring it up again.”

Extra:

Fuck that motherfucking mothafucka.

Whumpee wanted to punch something, they just did what he asked and now he’s mad at them, like it’s their fault.

Fuckin’ hate that fuckin’ kidnappin’ piece of shit. They continued to curse to themself as they finished the job Whumper brusquely left to them. Closing up the now open cuts, applying ointment, and finally bandaging them for the– hopefully– last time that day. Whumpee sighed to themself. Who were they kidding, he would ruin them again at night. But at least they had a new piece of information to exploit.

It may take a while, but they will escape from here and see everyone again.

239 notes · View notes