#group of whumpees

[pyrepostings]

Whumpee who needs a surgery but they have Trauma about being knocked out and things Done to them.

Do they get the surgery while paralyzed and numb, but awake? Is caretaker there to still walk them through what's happening to them?

Do they agree to go under full anesthesia but only if caretaker is there both when they go under and wake up, and very specific instructions about how they want to be treated during the process?

"Fine, just, can you be there when I'm waking up? And please don't judge me if I react poorly to you, I- I don't always know where I am when I'm coming out of it."

"Let me hold the gas to my own face. Don't touch me until I'm out. Make sure I'm dressed the same by the time I'm coming up. Do what you have to do while I'm out, I don't want to hear details about it unless I ask, just get it done."

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[doumidas-whumps]

no longer in solitude

Porter's first impression of Sonny, the new pet.

a little something from Port's POV this time (and by "a little something" I mean 2000 words). this is the night Sonny is brought to his new home.

consider this a sort-of prequel to this.

cw: BBU/pet whump, abusive master, whumpee emotionally attached to whumper

All day, the house was silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. It made Port a little twitchy. It seemed quieter than usual today, quiet enough that the florescent lights buzzing in his ears were making him sick. He had to step out of the bathroom halfway through cleaning the shower, scrubbing brush abandoned by the drain. He rinsed his hands and pressed his cool, clean palms to his eyes. Memories of lying alone in that cold, featureless room in the facility flashed behind his eyelids. 

He tried to think of something else, his master coming to mind easily. He had left for work that morning without a word to Port, just as he had the past two days. Mr. Oz hadn’t been speaking to him lately. In fact, he’d barely even looked at him.

Maybe something at work was bothering him. Did his boss yell at him? Could it be that the coworker he always complained about was getting on his nerves? Maybe it was unrelated to work; maybe he had lost more money at the casino. The last time that had happened, Mr. Oz lost two grand playing blackjack or poker or whatever it was and when he came home he threw one of his shoes at Port’s head. Port dodged it on instinct, which just made him angrier. Though come to think of it, Port hadn’t had any projectiles thrown at him, lately, so maybe it wasn’t that.

The grandfather clock started chiming, shaking Port out of his uneasy thoughts. He took a grounding breath and reentered the bathroom. 

After the bathroom was the living room. He pulled the remote out from between the couch cushions, itching to turn the TV on for some background noise. He set the remote in its proper place on the glass coffee table, next to a box of playing cards. He didn’t have permission to watch TV today. 

Lately Mr. Oz had been getting home around 7:00, so Port started dinner at 6:30. Talking to him over dinner was usually the most exciting part of Port’s day, but the two previous nights he had taken his dinner up to his room, leaving Port to clean up in silence. He hoped today would be better.

Dinner was finished by 6:55. He left it on the stove on low heat. When Mr. Oz still wasn’t home by 7:20, Port put it in the fridge. He had already cleaned the the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the living room, the kitchen, even under the fridge, under the oven, and the tops of the doorways. He supposed the bookshelf could do with some dusting. 

When Mr. Oz still wasn’t home by 9:00 and Port had truly run out of productive things to do, he grabbed the playing cards from the coffee table and kneeled on the Persian carpet, arranging them for a game of solitaire. Mr. Oz had never explicitly forbid him from playing card games, so Port figured it was okay as long as he put everything away before he got back. 

By the time the clock chimed for the second time since he’d started playing, marking 11 o’ clock, Port was starting to get concerned. It wasn’t uncommon for his master to stay out after work, but 11:00 P.M. was far later than usual, especially on a Thursday night. 

Port had been in the living room for hours, having long since adjusted to a more comfortable sitting position. His current game was not going well. Stuck, Port listened to the ticking clock while he tried to figure out how to salvage it. It was hard to think when his eyes were drifting closed. He had gotten up at 5 A.M. that morning, like usual, and he wasn’t allowed to sleep until his master turned in for the night.

Port gave up on the game and rested his elbows on the coffee table, shifting the cards underneath his arms. He stared at the blinking colon of the digital clock under the TV, willing himself to stay awake. He should probably get up and move around, but the combination of the blinking and the ticking had a hypnotizing effect.

Just as the clock blinked to 11:08, he heard the garage door screech open and jerked awake. Port hastily gathered the cards into a stack and slid them into their box. He rose to his feet and padded to the side door to greet his master, where he waited eagerly, a smile already on his face. 

The door swung open and Mr. Oz stepped through into the yellow light of the hall. His cheeks were ruddy, teeth visible in a grin. Port found it encouraging.

“Welcome home,” Port greeted. “How was your—”

Port was startled as another figure appeared out of the darkness in the doorway behind him. His first split-second thought was that it was one of his master’s friends, as it wasn’t unusual for him to invite people over. The thought was dashed as soon as he spotted the supple black collar around the figure’s neck. 

It was a boy— a young man— who stepped into the hall, eyes cast down. Port couldn’t see his features too well at this angle— only his shining black hair, which was neatly parted down the middle of his scalp. 

Port realized his mouth was still open and shut it. Once he pulled his eyes away from the pet he noticed that Mr. Oz was looking at him, eyes glimmering. “Porter, this is Sonny.” He clapped the boy on the back, who visibly jumped. (A sign of poor training.) “He’ll be helping you out around the house.”

Every question running through Port’s mind was cut short. Was he saying what Port thought he was saying? “Sir, do you mean…?”

“That’s right! You get to have a little playmate, doesn’t that sound great?”

Port blinked.

Mr. Oz was looking at the pet with some sort of fondness. “I’ve had my eye on him for a while now… you should’ve seen the look on David’s face.” His hand moved to the pet's neck, whose shoulders raised higher. “I’m gonna get him a collar like yours,” Mr. Oz said, hooking a finger under the nylon. “So you can match.”

Some buzzing feeling was spreading through Port. His chest was shivering. He felt his smile grow wider. He clasped his hands in front of him and squeezed. “This is great, sir.”

Mr. Oz smiled back at him. It felt good to be on the same page as his master, to be excited with him. Port was already imagining what it would be like to have another presence in the house. Someone to help with housework, to get to know, to talk with like an an equal. A small spike of guilt struck him at the thought. His master was supposed to fulfill all his needs. He shouldn’t be craving the company of another pet, of all things. And yet…

Mr. Oz grabbed Sonny roughly by the shoulders and pushed him closer to Port, made them stand shoulder-to-shoulder. Sonny had to be at least half a foot shorter than him. 

He watched Mr. Oz admire them both, mind working. His hand shot out to Sonny’s face so fast that Sonny jerked back and Port nearly flinched. Mr. Oz gripped him by the face, dimpling his cheek with his thumb as he tilted his head upwards. “Look at me,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll have you…” He trailed off, eyes growing dark. “What’s with that face?”

Port glanced down to gauge for himself. On Sonny’s face was an unmistakable expression: fear. 

“Are you scared?” asked their master. He was no longer smiling.

Sonny said nothing. Port’s heart beat fast for him. Mr. Oz did not like to go unanswered.

“Well?”

Sonny hesitated too long. Mr. Oz released Sonny’s face only to crack his hand across it like a whip. Sonny nearly collided into Port’s shoulder, hand raising as if to cradle his rapidly flushing cheek. Port felt a rising sense of alarm. Where was this boy trained?

Mr. Oz’s hand grasped Sonny’s wrist, halting it in place. “Please, sir—“ Sonny finally spoke.

“Who taught you to act like this?” He was yelling, now. “Were you disciplined at all?”

Port couldn’t help himself. “Sir, he’s just—” 

His master whirled on him. “I don’t wanna hear a single word outta you!” 

Port’s jaw clicked shut.

He turned back to Sonny, who was lowering towards the floor like his knees were buckling. Mr. Oz  released Sonny’s wrist and ran both hands through his short hair, something he always did when he was exasperated. “Way to ruin my damn mood.” He rubbed his eyes, and when his fists fell he locked eyes with Port. They were slightly red. “Take him to your room,” he said. “Explain the rules.” His gaze drifted to Sonny, who now had his arms wrapped around himself. Mr. Oz sighed, pinching his brow. “If he doesn’t fix his behavior… we’re gonna have some problems.” Port felt Sonny curl further into himself beside him.

“Yes, sir.” Port wasted no time in guiding Sonny upstairs with a gentle hand on his upper back. He pushed open the door to his room— their room, now. There wasn’t much. A dresser, a blanket, a pillow, the soft rug he slept on. A painting of a seagull hung on the far wall. Port would have to grab another pillow and blanket for Sonny from the linen closet— that is, if Mr. Oz didn’t decide to revoke his bedding privileges for that little display.

Now that they were out of earshot, Port felt comfortable enough to speak. He needed to give Sonny the rundown on how things worked around here. But first… “Are you alright?”

Sonny lifted his head, looking directly at Port for the first time. His eyes were so dark Port couldn’t see the pupils. They shone like black pearls, wet. His cheeks were dry, the left still colored from the slap, but his face was otherwise unblemished. He looked young. His mouth made no movement.

“You can speak, right?”

Sonny’s gaze lowered. “Sorry,” he whispered. “This is a lot.”

Port sighed, feeling a pang of sympathy. The boy didn’t seem very experienced. “It’s okay,” he said. “Let’s sit down.” 

Sonny wasted no time in dropping to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. Port went to his knees in front of him, but after a few seconds decided to readjust and sit on his bottom to be more casual. He gave Sonny a minute of silence to calm down before speaking again.

“I don’t know what that was, but—” you shouldn’t be so scared? I hope you’re okay? You can’t do that again? “—he isn’t as bad as you seem to think he is.”

Sonny looked at him again, now reproachfully. Port tried a smile. “Are you new?”

His eyes turned sharp, flicking up and down Port’s figure. “Six months outta training,” he muttered. Secondhand? Sonny seemed to be considering him. “You’re not new.”

“No.” 

“You’re W.R.U.?” Dubya-arr-yoo.

“…Yes.” Technically. 

Sonny hummed, lowering his chin. “You kinda seem like it.”

Port wasn’t sure how to feel about that, or what could have possibly given him that impression, so he just asked, “Where are you from, if not W.R.U.?” Port knew of at least two knock-offs. “I didn’t even know Mr. Oz was looking for another pet.”

Sonny just sighed and lowered his head further so his forehead touched the tops of his knees, face hidden. 

Well, alright. Considering they were equals, Port supposed Sonny wasn’t obligated to answer him.

[wolfeyedwitch]

(hey! @pigeonwhumps here, starting off the Bailey and Phoenix crossover!)

Phoenix looks up as Zera walks into the medical bay. They don't even really need to be in here anymore, it's just that– well, Bailey.

"Hey Phoenix. We've heard back from your team. Abbie's free to come and pick you up tomorrow morning, if that's okay? I know it's a bit sudden."

Their heart skips a beat. Well, they've missed enough of work, they suppose, although they could've gone back on their own ages ago if Zera's team had let them. But, oh, fuck, Abbie's going to find out about them getting medical treatment, isn't she?

They could ask the team to lie but no, no. They deserve it. Whatever punishment they get for the medical treatment and being idle for so long when people need them, they deserve it. They should be more self-reliant, they shouldn't let people give them medical treatment, they don't need to rest, they don't need rescuing, they're immortal. Immortal and pathetic.

Zera's starting to frown now. Oh, no, that's not good. What've they done wrong now? They tug their sleeves down over their hands nervously.

"Yes, sir."

With Bloody Outstretched Hands Masterlist

Immortal Cannon Fodder Masterlist

This is set after Phoenix's crucifixion; they're recovering and staying with Zera's team for that period. For WBOH, this is after part 6; the team has just learned who Bailey is.

Also, just pretend that Phoenix called Bailey Poppet, and Zera called Phoenix Firebird. Phoenix doesn't know Bailey's name yet, and they're using their codenames in front of the villain they've taken in.

---

Zera is about 0.3 seconds away from screaming. They swear, if someone calls them "sir" one more time—

"Yes, sir," Phoenix says.

—they will sigh internally and put it in their mental "motivation to punch things" box.

Why is Phoenix being so damn... respectful? No, that isn't the right word. Deferential? That isn't quite it, either. They're acting like Zera is somehow... more important than them. Someone they have to placate, almost. Given that Phoenix has been a hero longer than Zera had, it makes no sense.

"Okay," Zera says aloud, tucking the confusing mess away to ponder later. "Well, you're due for your next dose of pain medication."

And for some reason, that sends Phoenix into a spiral. They claim that they don't need it, that Zera shouldn't waste the medication on them, that they're sorry for being an inconvenience. The whole thing feels like sandpaper on Zera's nerves, scraping them raw.

Eventually, through a judicious use of puppy-dog eyes, Zera convinces Phoenix to accept the medication. Then it's time to administer them to Poppet, or Bailey as they now know the villain's name is, as well.

Bailey wakes from their uneasy sleep when Zera gets close, drawing on their powers enough to make Zera's hair stand on end.

"Woah, it's okay, take it easy," Zera says, trying to de-escalate the situation.

Bailey stays poised to attack, one hand outstretched and powers at the ready, for a moment longer. Then their eyes focus on Zera, recognition finally dawning.

"Foxfire," they say, lowering their hand. The electric tension of their powers leaves the air. "I'm sorry, I thought— it doesn't matter what I thought, I messed up, I'm sorry."

Zera waves off the apology and offers Bailey the medication. Bailey, inexplicably, has...

Almost the exact same reaction that Phoenix did. Right down to claiming that Zera shouldn't 'waste' the medication on them.

"It isn't a waste," Zera says, trying to figure out why these two were having such a reaction. "Please, let me help you."

Bailey swallows and nods. Zera gives them the medication and leaves the medbay. They need to talk to... well. Everyone.

What the actual entire fuck is going on? This behavior is weird and unsettling enough coming from Poppet, or Bailey as they now know the villain's name is. But coming from Phoenix? Their fellow hero, who's been at this job even longer than Zera themself???

Something is very, very wrong here.

And Zera is going to find out what it is.

---

Let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged for this crossover!

Taglist:

@heathenville @nonbinary-disaster @kim-poce @whump-world 

@dolls-circus @pickleking8 @ghostfacepepper @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @extemporary-whump @whumpwillow 

@multiple-characters1-acct @sunflower1000 @fleur-alise @equestrianwritingsstuff @scp-1296 

@livingforthewhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @suspicious-whumping-egg @kaiwewi @lelly-belly 

@neuro-whump @newbornwhumperfly @whumpthisway @whumpcreations @wicked-whump 

@heart4brains @myhusbandsasemni @how-to-be-a-hero @kixngiggles @kurochan 

@whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @pattonvirglsanders @neverthelass @we-write-as-one 

@elrysdoesstuff @whumperflies-and-roses @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @ramadiiiisme 

@towerlesskey @emmanemanemm @pigeonwhumps @whumpycries

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

The Winged Servant - 12

content warnings: discussions surrounding medically induced amnesia, royal/servant whump, angel whumpee, discussions surrounding corporal punishment (torturing onyx lol), let me know if I missed anything!

prev chapter | masterlist

The guard took me down three staircases and through too many hallways to remember before opening a metal door. “They’ll be waiting for you right in here. There aren’t guards in there, but those two are plenty capable and I will be waiting out here regardless, so no funny business.” I didn’t miss the click of the lock sliding into place as the door closed.

There was a table in the middle of the room. It had a white tablecloth on it, but it looked like it was metal and sterile under that.

Dubhe was waiting at the table. Dubhe and… someone else. The someone else would clearly rather I didn’t know. They were wearing a mask, blue and gray and big enough to cover every inch of their face. They had loose enough clothes to hide the curves of their body and their hair was pulled back into a bun that hid the texture and length of it—even the color outside of how dark it was.

“Hi, Onyx,” Dubhe said softly. “How’s your arm?”

“Good, sir,” I whispered, bowing my head slightly. “Thank you for the concern. And, um, the medical help.”

��Of course. How about you come sit down, yeah? My friend here is going to stay anonymous, but you can call them Blue. We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay?”

He was speaking so gently. As if I wouldn’t understand him if he was blunt with me. I wondered if I should tell him that I knew how to be a good servant, or if that was too irrelevant to the conversation. “Of course, sir.”

“What’s your full name?” Blue asked. They did not sound upset with me, but it was a far cry from Dubhe's soft tone.

“Onyx, Mx.”

“And… your last name?”

I glanced away, focusing my eyes on the tablecloth, tracing the gold embroidery with my eyes. “My apologies, Mx, but you would have to ask the royal family for that kind of information. I don’t know it anymore.”

“No? Why not?”

“I gave it to them, Mx, when I was seventeen. I don’t remember anything from before being a servant. It’s better this way. I'm more productive.”

Dubhe and Blue stared at each other for a long moment before looking back at me. “They erased your memory?” Dubhe asked slowly.

“Yes, but- but I agreed, sir. I offered to let them do it, because I wanted to become the best servant I could.”

“Okay, but your offer was before they actually did the procedure, right? So the only reason you know that you offered is because they told you.”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed. “I’m very grateful to them for telling me, since they don't usually tell me about before. As is their right, of course.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dubhe whispered. “You’ve been with them this whole time, haven’t you? What did you do when they were overthrown?”

“... What?”

“When they were overthrown. Since they’re no longer royal. Did they just take you with them when they left the castle?”

This was similar to what Dr. Charlotte had said—she hasn’t ruled a country for the better part of the last decade—but it couldn’t be true. “The Rao family has ruled Sathenn for sixteen generations, sir. And I don’t- I don’t think I’d ever seen the castle before last night.”

“So you didn't work for them as an employee, or at least not after the memory thing.” Blue tilted their head. “How do you know that the Raos didn’t just grab you off the street and wipe your memory?”

I frowned. “His Highness Prince Ryan told me that I volunteered.”

“And you took his word for it. Right.” They wrote something down on their clipboard. “Did you try to leave?”

“Of course not, not on purpose,” I breathed, staring at them in shock. “I’m- I know how to be a good servant, I can be, I swear.”

“And you didn’t ever want to, or you were just too scared to? Do you understand the difference in the question I am asking?”

“I don’t… think I understand, Mx. I don’t leave because that’s what’s required of me as a servant, and I can be a good servant. It’s not about what I want or how scared I am, I just don't leave.”

“... Right.” I could not see their expression, but I didn’t think they looked convinced. “And what would happen if you did try to leave? Would you… get in trouble in some way?”

“Of course, Mx. But I know my place, I swear I do, I wouldn’t run.”

“Okay. But if you did.”

“I wouldn’t, Mx,” I insisted. “I swear. I can be good, I wouldn’t run.”

They paused for a moment, but nodded eventually. “Okay. Sure. You wouldn’t run. But do you get in trouble for other things, then? Other, smaller mistakes, maybe? Can you describe… I don’t know. Can you describe the most recent incident?”

The most recent one was… last night, despite the fact that last night felt much further away than it was. “Each morning, I bring breakfast to Her Majesty,” I explained. “Yesterday, I was late, Mx. I was punished for that.”

“What kind of punishment?”

“I usually wear a shock collar, Mx, and His Highness Prince Ryan shocked me three times. One for each minute I was late. A fair punishment.”

Blue had been scribbling on their paper, but froze as I spoke. “So you- when you say punishment, you mean corporal punishment.”

“Of course, Mx. Punishment is required for me to become the best servant I can be. How else am I supposed to learn to be better? I make much fewer mistakes than when I was new.”

Dubhe was frowning at the wall, and I flinched when he turned his gaze toward me. “Tell Blue what you told me about your wing.”

“My wing wasn’t broken as a punishment, sir,” I explained again, not understanding the relevance. I hadn’t understood the relevance of any of these questions, but it didn’t matter, because the prince had said to do what I was told. “It was only to keep me from flying. But it’s- it’s okay, now, it barely hurts, it’s been years. His Highness Prince Cardan broke it before I gave the royal family my memories, so I don’t remember it happening.”

“That’s convenient,” Blue muttered. “Fine. Okay. Last couple questions, because I can’t stomach this for much longer. What do you know about what you were doing in the castle last night?”

I hesitated. “One of the guards said that we were breaking in.”

“Mhm. Were you aware of that before you came here?”

“... The royal family can’t break in anywhere, Mx. They’re entitled to any building they like.”

“Allow me to rephrase, Onyx. Were you or were you not aware, last night, that you came here as part of a group on a mission to kill people?”

“That’s not-” I hesitated. “They weren’t here for that. They were here for… for Dubhe, they said. Anyone that they hurt was someone in the way of their rule—it’s not that they wanted to hurt people.”

“Didn’t they? I’ve seen the camera footage. You were an accessory to murder before you even got into the door. That didn’t make you hesitate at all? It didn’t surprise you enough to ask any of the Raos what you were doing here?”

Right. The guard with the purple hair. Outside, guarding the castle. Guarding Dubhe. Dead, after someone had killed her, someone that had arrived in a car with me.

“No, Mx,” I said. “I didn’t- I didn’t ask. I’m not supposed to ask questions. It would be a waste of time. I’m just supposed to do what I’m told.”

Blue took a slow, measured breath. “Okay. I have good news and bad news for you, Onyx. The good news is that I think putting you on trial wouldn’t get us very far because you somehow managed not to realize that the Raos were killing people. Even after watching them kill people. The bad news is that you are ridiculously loyal to people that have been lying to you for longer than you remember existing. These people are dangerous to everything this country stands for. That makes you dangerous by proxy, regardless of your intentions or information, and we can’t exactly let you free either.”

You are ridiculously loyal to people that have been lying to you.

These people are dangerous.

“That doesn’t- it doesn’t matter if they lie,” I managed. “It doesn’t matter if they’re dangerous. It’s not the same for them, Mx. They tell me what they want me to know so that I can be the best servant possible. Sometimes that doesn’t include the full picture.”

“Why do you need to be such a good servant?” Blue asked. “Why does their comfort matter so much more than yours? They might have the best servant in the world, Onyx, but what is the point of serving them so much if they give you nothing in return?”

This was something I had asked too, once. It was years ago, when I was new and I had phrased it differently, but I remembered it. Why is my happiness less important than yours, Your Highness?

Prince Cardan had laughed and asked me how happy I thought he was. And he’d said that happiness- “Happiness serves no purpose, Mx. It doesn’t protect me or keep me safe or provide me with food. The royal family does that for me, if I do my best to be a good servant.”

“They’re not going to be the royal family ever again, you know. They’re-”

“When was the last time you ate something, Onyx?” Dubhe interrupted.

Blue glared at him.

“... Last night, sir,” I answered quietly. “At dinner.”

“I think that the conversation Blue is trying to have with you would be better managed over a meal. How about we get you some breakfast?”

Blue was still glaring, and Dubhe didn’t look happy. …But someone had asked me a question, and I was supposed to answer it. “Yes. sir.”

“Okay. Blue—paperwork. Try to start questioning Lucia if you have any extra time. Onyx—how do you feel about crepes?”

~

taglist (btw i appreciate you so so much): @kaleidoscope-of-thoughts @toyybox @rainydaywhump @risk606

[mentalityofacoolduck]

Prompt #4

Hero is constantly belittled and made fun of by their team. They are as good of a fighter as any; yet they're seen as inferior and a drag on the team. One day, the villains manage to wipe out the hero team, and present them with an offer: if they give Hero to them, they'll spare the heroes lives. Hero's team immediately takes them up on this offer, and give Hero up without a second thought. Hero is sure that they'll be killed, but unbeknownst to them, the Villains have taken a liking to Hero's skills, and want Hero to fight alongside them.

[saffitaffi]

Ok but what if Whumper and Caretaker are in league with each other. Whenever Whumper thinks they’ve gone too far, or want to just get rid of Whumpee for a while, they hand off Whumpee to Caretaker, who’s so nice and sweet, gives them good food and a soft place to sleep, helps them mentally recover… only to give them back to Whumper, where the torture starts all over again. Does Whumpee know? How do they react when they find out? What is the relationship between Whumper and Caretaker? Are they best friends? Begrudging coworkers? Does Caretaker genuinely care for Whumpee, or is it just an act?

[doumidas-whumps]

getting to know port (not all that well)

Sonny has recently been reassigned to a new owner. He notices some things about Porter, the other household pet.

this is mostly a scene setter for my BBU-inspired guys (with some whumpy flavoring). my version of the BBU is a little different than the 'standard' but still recognizable. hoping to get more familiar with their personalities as I write more things for them!

content warnings: BBU/box boy/pet whump, abusive pet/master dynamics (par for the course)

~~~~~

From what Sonny had gathered, Porter was a refurb. Not that Port had ever told him— the guy held his cards pretty close to his chest. Sonny hardly knew anything about him, really, even after a month of sleeping on the floor next to him. All he knew for sure was that Port had been in this house with Mr. Oz for a while now. 

“It’ll be two years in October,” is what he said when Sonny asked him, and with way too much enthusiasm. 

Port liked to act like this house was all he had ever known, but sometimes he had this look in his eyes that Sonny had seen before in some of the others in the Barn. That too-intense, wide-eyed, twitchy look like he had been through hell. 

Sonny didn’t know exactly what the refurbishment process involved, and he sure as hell didn’t want to find out, but he was trained alongside a few guys that had come out the other end of it more or less alive. Sometimes W.R.U. sold off refurbs to the Barn, mostly if they thought the refurbs were too damaged to sell but didn’t want to take a complete loss.

It made Sonny wonder what Port had done to deserve that, because he couldn’t imagine him ever disobeying orders. Maybe refurbishment fixed whatever fight he had in him. Sonny shuttered just thinking about it, despite the stuffy heat of the kitchen. 

Mr. Oz had tried cooking god-knows-what earlier that afternoon. Looked like some sort of soup or stew that had boiled over and left a brown sticky mess all over the stovetop. Sonny already knew his master didn’t know how to cook, but this just cemented in his mind that he should try and steer Mr. Oz away from the kitchen at all costs. Best to leave the cooking to him and Port. (Mostly Port, because he was better at it.)

Sonny wasn’t there to witness the incident, but whatever happened, Mr. Oz was all pissed about it and even pulled Sonny away from bathroom cleaning duty to fix his mess, hence why Sonny had been scrubbing the stove with an old toothbrush for the past fifteen minutes.

“If this ain’t cleaned up and dinner ain’t on the table by the time I get back, you really won’t like what happens next,” he’d said, gripping Sonny’s bicep like a vice and wagging his stupid thick finger in his face. Sonny had been on the receiving end of threats like that ever since he got here a month ago, but they still put him on edge every time. He never knew if Mr. Oz would act on them or not. Sometimes he would come back in a better mood and grant him mercy, but other times he would follow through and then some.

Some part of him was still naïve enough to hope that he could avoid being hurt if he did exactly what Mr. Oz asked, but in reality his master was volatile even at the best of times and it usually didn’t matter. It was safer just to assume he would be hurt every time so he could be pleasantly surprised if he wasn’t. At this point, Sonny was pretty sure Mr. Oz liked beating on him just for kicks. Maybe because he was fresh. 

Port as much more hardened, on the other hand. He didn’t tremble or whimper like Sonny did. He would take a punishment silently and would probably even smile and thank him if he was asked to.

Sick with longing for his old master, Sonny rubbed his face with his free hand, wincing as he accidentally pressed on a tender bruise from last night. He tried not to think about his old master too much, through it was hard not to when he was stuck doing shit like this. His old master hardly ever threatened him, and when he did it was at least for good reason. And Sonny certainly never had to clean stovetops back then. Sighing, Sonny lifted one of the burner grates and started scrubbing the blackened crust underneath. 

That was something else he didn’t get about Porter. He didn’t seem to mind their master’s treatment at all. Hell, the way Port acted about him you’d think he was an angel. Sonny thought Mr. Oz really wasn’t much better than the handlers he’d trained under. That was another reason Sonny figured he must’ve belonged to someone else at some point. When Sonny brought it up, though, Port just said, “I don’t remember anything from before I got here,” which Sonny knew was definitely a damn lie because those W.R.U. guys were at least supposed to remember their training, refurbished or not. 

With a small jolt of alarm, Sonny realized they should probably get supper started soon if they both wanted to avoid their master’s wrath. Putting the dirty toothbrush down and tugging at his chafing collar, he moved to the window to see if he could spot Port outside. He had been weeding for a few hours now, his latest gardening project.

Peeking out the window, Sonny could see the top of his ginger head moving around in all the green of the yard. Sonny wasn’t allowed to go outside, so he opened the window and called out. Port’s freckled face popped up from behind the bushes.

“D’you need something?” he asked.

“Mr. Oz wants supper on the table before he gets home.”

Port looked over his shoulder to the sky like the sun would tell him when he would be getting back. “What time is it?”

“’Bout 5:30.” 

Port wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist, which just rubbed more dirt onto his face. “We should be okay, but I’ll head in after I finish this section. He’s not supposed to be home ’til 7, he said.”

Sonny wanted to argue with him, tell him that he should get supper started as soon as possible in case Mr. Oz came back, but tamped down the urge. Porter was usually right about these things.

Even though Sonny had his gripes with him, Port was refreshingly levelheaded. One time, maybe three or four days after Sonny had first arrived to the house, he’d accidentally dropped a bowl while washing the dishes and the damned thing cracked, broke right in two. At that point he was already familiar enough with Mr. Oz’s personality to know what would be in store for him if he found out. With all the stress of the new environment, new rules, and new expectations building for the past few days, the bowl made something break in him. He fell, he shook, he cried, the whole nine yards.

Port had appeared at his side, kneeled beside him, rubbed gentle circles into his back. “It’s okay,” he had said. “We can throw it away out back. Master won’t even notice it’s gone.” Then he’d stood up and offered his hands to Sonny, who took them and let Port help him up. Port even went as far as cleaning up the ceramic himself while Sonny wiped his face with a damp paper towel. Just like he said, Mr. Oz never even noticed the missing bowl.

So Sonny didn’t argue. He just closed the window and returned to the kitchen, where he started to scrub a little more vigorously.

[fairyniceyeah]

💎Day 14: "What were you thinking?"

Surrender/Human Shield/Outmatched

@juneofdoom

Day 13: "Wait!"

Summary: As SEVENTEEN are mobbed at the airport Seokmin is helpless to watch his members get hurt.

CW: mentions of panic, mobs, blood, injuries, emeto

Whumpee: Whole group

Caretaker: Whole group

Seokmin felt his skin crawl as they stepped out of the plane into a private area of the Incheon Airport. It was supposed to be a happy return, a celebration of a successful Japan schedule. Nevertheless, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling.

“That’s a lot of fans”, Vernon whispered next to him, nervously looking through the glass wall that separated them from the rest of the airport. While it was supposed to be a private area, the airport did benefit more from the see-through wall with fans milling about in hopes of catching glimpses of their favorite idols and basically keeping the airport afloat just with their expenses in food and drinks. The youngest rapper had never been a fan of crowds, easily feeling overwhelmed and claustrophobic. 

Jihoon hummed in agreement, subconsciously sticking closer to Mingyu as he always did in these situations. It was his height, Seokmin supposed, that made him feel vulnerable as he - unlike their tallest - could barely see over the heads of the fans if that. 

As Seokmin turned around to search for the 95 liners to alert them to the distressed members he found them already deep in conversation. Seungcheol looked worried but had a comforting hand on Jeonghan’s arm. Joshua was frowning, gesturing. Seeing they were preoccupied with something, Seokmin decided to stick close to Vernon himself, seeing that Mingyu was with Jihoon.

The leader of the hired bodyguards gave the signal to move and that was when Seokmin realized what had the hyungs so concerned. There was only one bodyguard for two members, if that. All their managers were there, too, of course and they all trusted them but their job was not necessarily crowd control or bodily force. 

“Hold up”, Seungcheol called quietly from the back and they all turned to stop to look at him. “Since the bodyguard and member ratio is reduced today due to illness, I want us to keep close. Everybody, walk together with another member, build rows of two. Watch out for your partner and if anything is amiss, let us know immediately. Jeonghan and Joshua will go in the front. I’ll stay in the back.”

The members did as Seungcheol suggested and the bodyguards seemed to appreciate his intervention, nodding at the leader. Jeonghan and Joshua passed the group to stand at the front. Seokmin offered his own hand to Vernon who - very grateful for it - pressed it tightly. 

Somehow the two of them ended up at the back of the group, just before Seungcheol standing alone. From there they could see the other pairs Joshua and Jeonghan, Hoshi and Seungkwan, Dino and Wonwoo, Mingyu and (likely, they couldn’t see) Woozi, Jun and Minghao. 

“Who will look out for you, hyung?”, Seokmin asked, mustering Seungcheol.

“Don’t worry about me, Min-ah”, the leader said in what sounded like it was supposed to be a reassuring voice. It didn’t help calm Seokmin’s bad feeling at all. 

Deafening screams greeted them as soon as they walked out of the private area. Vernon had been right. It was a lot of fans. Much more than they had expected and were usual. Way too many for the area and especially with so few guards. They were easily outmatched.

“Hyung”, Vernon whispered, pressing himself tighter to Seokmin.

“It’s okay”, Seokmin tried to set his mind at rest. He might have succeeded more if he hadn’t doubted his own words. 

“Don’t worry, you two”, Seungcheol said from behind them, his hand coming to rest on Vernon’s back for a brief second. “Hyung won’t let any harm come to you.”

They made it maybe halfway to the safety of the cars when all hell broke loose. It had been a tense atmosphere and Seokmin had never before been so bothered by the flashes and clicks of phones so close to his face. The bodyguards and their managers did their best to keep the fans away. But the area was just too small.

Every fan just wanting to get a glimpse of their idol, was pushed back into the crowd as the front guards made them part like the red sea. But that pushing turned into more pushing from fans behind. And more pushing from the fans further behind. 

Seokmin wanted to do something, be able to beam them to the cars already, when out of a sudden Vernon’s hand was violently pulled out of his grip. Both of them yelled - Seokmin in shock and Vernon in absolute terror. A fan had grabbed onto him, having found an opening between the barrier and using the opportunity to pull the idol into the maelstrom of panicked crowd. A crowd that suddenly had the opportunity to touch and be close to a SEVENTEEN member.

All Seokmin could do was scream again as Vernon was dragged into the hungry sea and a manager wrapped his arms around the vocalist’s middle to stop him from following. The last thing he saw before the crowd close into itself, more interested in vulnerable rapper than the protected members, was Seungcheol diving behind the terrified maknae-line member.

“Let me go”, Seokmin yelled at the manager, fighting against him with all his strength, scratching and kicking as hard as he could, “let me go to him.” The manager just held him tighter, pressing onwards to the VIP entrance area and away from his brothers.

“Seokmin-ah, Seokmin-ah”, somebody called. Joshua. The manager pushed him into the arms of the third oldest before gripping onto the hands of the other managers building a protective circle around the members and pushing them further into the VIP entrance area. 

“Hyung”, Seokmin cried, clutching at the older, “Hansol-ah and Cheollie-hyung…”

“They will be fine”, Joshua said, his voice trembling and betraying his own fears even as he pulled Seokmin along further. 

It took a few more overwhelming minutes before they were huddled together in the VIP section, separated from the fans. In that time Seokmin hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of the other members, his face buried in Joshua’s chest but now he stepped back. They had ended up at the far right of the group.

Behind him and Joshua, Jeonghan was yelling at a manager, arguing, and trying to push back into the crowd to their missing members.

On their left Mingyu was holding back a totally distraught Seungkwan, crying for his best friend and their leader. It was clear as day that both of them were terrified but the older rapper held the vocalist tight so he had no chance to run back into the fray.

Jun was whispering to a crying Minghao, trying to calm him down amidst his own fear. 

Hoshi, while crying like there was no tomorrow himself, was guiding a shaking and ashen gray Jihoon through breathing exercises. 

Then his heart stopped. Counting the members in his head, Seokmin realized that even - including Vernon and Seungcheol - he only got to eleven.

Dino was missing. So was Wonwoo

“Hyung”, he called to Jeonghan, “where are Dino-yah and Won…?”

He interrupted himself as two managers parted from their defense line and … Dino and Wonwoo came stumbling through, collapsing on the ground together. Dino had his arms wrapped around his hyung, acting more like the protector than the protegée. Curious, Wonwoo was seriously whipped for their maknae, his biggest protector, and he never lost his cool as long as no blood was involved.

As Seungkwan and Mingyu threw themselves at the new arrivals, crying and checking them over, Seokmin realized the issue. 

Wonwoo’s glasses were missing, likely knocked off in the crowd. He didn’t want to imagine how the rapper must have felt - probably terrified, surrounded by panicked people and unable to see. Chan, now that he understood they were safe, burst into panicked tears as he clutched at Seungkwan’s shirt. He seemed otherwise uninjured - unlike Wonwoo who now pointed Mingyu’s hands that were hovering over him, and unsure if he was allowed to touch, to his ankle. He probably had tripped.

Jeonghan gave up the discussion with the manager and fell to his knees beside the two maknaes sorely missing their third and held onto them tightly. 

“Move to the cars”, a manager ordered. A few members - like Hoshi and Woozi and Joshua - seemed relieved to get out of the sight of the crowd, while others - Jeonghan, Dino and Seungkwan - protested loudly, wanting to wait for the missing members.

“Seokmin, get them up”, Jun called and nodded at the others. Seokmin was confused for a moment why he was burdened with such a task - he was a maknae line member himself and the hyungs did their best to leave them out of stuff like this. But then he understood - he wasn’t crying or shaking or injured. He was just numb, now that the crowd had no hold over him anymore, well enough to help the incapacitated members.

While Jun helped Minghao to his feet and guided out a limping Wonwoo with Mingyu’s help, Seokmin knelt down by the terrified trio. “Hannie-hyung. Kwan-ah. Dino-yah”, he called to them, “we need to go.”

“Not without Cheollie-hyung and Hansol-ah”, Seungkwan yelled, causing Seokmin to flinch. But he pressed on. 

“Seungcheol and Vernon would want us to be safe”, he said, not realizing how awful, how final those words sounded. Seungkwan whimpered but Jeonghan nodded, understanding that Seokmin was at his wits end. 

“Let’s go”, he said and together they walked out, leaving without being thirteen. 

Outside of the airport it was a totally different atmosphere. The air was crisp and fresh, no bodies around them fighting. There was so much space. Seokmin helped usher the others into the cars. They had three vans booked, all eight-seaters so members and staff could comfortably be transported. A few body guards stood around, watching the area.

“Come on, get in”, Seokmin said gently and pushed the three into the van already containing Minghao. “Try to breathe.”

When he checked the other vans, he found the second one empty and only Joshua, Wonwoo and Mingyu in the third. Joshua had Wonwoo’s ankle in his lap, looking at the swollen appendage with worry. Mingyu was wiping away the steady tears dripping from Wonwoo’s lashes, occasionally pressing the tissue to his own eyes. Seokmin smiled tightly at them and then turned around to look for the missing members.

Jun, Hoshi and Woozi stood a little further away, likely trying to find some place to breathe easier and understand they were safe for now. Seokmin was about to approach them, coax them into the cars too, when Jihoon suddenly bent forward, retching into a gutter below him. Despite his own distaste for vomit and his usual need to stay far, far away, today he couldn’t be bothered to care. Instead he approached them, watching as Hoshi gently held Jihoon’s hair at the base of his neck and soothed him. In his backpack, he surprisingly hadn’t lost, Seokmin found a water bottle which he handed over to Jun. The chinese member nodded at him in thanks but shooed him away, likely not wanting to deal with the moment Seokmin’s brain caught up to his usual fear.

“Let’s go”, a loud voice called, “everybody to the cars now.”

As he whirled around, Seokmin saw the most beautiful sight in his life. There was Seungcheol, limping badly and his face bruised and in his arms he carried Hansol, who was clutching his hyung so tightly that even from the distance Seokmin could see that he was conscious, body tense in a way it wouldn’t be if he wasn’t.

Seungcheol ignored the worried calls coming from the cars, just walking on like a man on a mission. 

“I want every member that needs to be in the hospital in the van Wonwoo is already in”, a manager called. “Who needs to go beside him, Seungcheol and Vernon?”

“Jihoon-hyung, I think”, Seokmin said, looking back over his shoulder to where Jihoon was still hyperventilating and obviously nauseous. “I don’t know if he got injured but he’s been panicking and was just sick. Dino-yah maybe too.”

“I don’t need to go”, Dino called, “I didn’t get hurt.”

“Alright, Mingyu, please go to one of the other vans, so we have some space”, the manager said. Seokmin frowned. Between Joshua, Mingyu and Wonwoo, there were four spaces left. Enough for Seungcheol, Vernon, Jihoon and a manager, not including the driver.

“Hyung?”, Seokimn asked, frowning. Maybe he had miscounted? Or did he want Hoshi or Jun to go with Jihoon?

“You’re going too, Min-ah”, the manager replied. Before Seokmin could tell him he was fine - how had he even come to such a conclusion - his vision swam and he felt his knees buckle.

“That’s why”, the manager said as he caught him against his chest and lifted him to his chest, “you’re hurt, even if you haven’t noticed yet. I bet you don’t even feel the bruises on your face or your split lip?”

Bruises? But as the manager said the words, Seokmin did become aware of how much his head was throbbing and he could taste the blood on his teeth now. 

“Oh”, he whispered.

Hours later, all thirteen of them - after much begging on the members side and then much begging on the managers side to convince the hospital staff - were they all gathered in the hospital room Wonwoo, Seungcheol and Vernon shared.

Wonwoo was to be released in the evening, after the swelling in his foot came down and they were able to wrap the ankle in bandages. Mingyu had even remembered to bring his back-up pair of glasses with him. The tallest member was sitting on the bed next to Wonwoo, the older leaning sideways onto him. 

Seungcheol with his face bruised and scratched, as well as having a hairline fracture in his cheekbones and a broken toe was to stay the night for observation. The leader hadn’t protested and they all could tell how much the day had drained him. He kept falling asleep on Jeonghan’s shoulder, Joshua asleep on Jeonghan’s lap in turn.

Vernon, by far, was the worst off. He’d been stepped on, his whole abdomen a littering of bruises, a grotesque painting. Even his face hadn’t been spared scratched by a high-heel. He had a slight concussion and was very, very high on pain meds - on one hand - and anti-anxiety medication -on the other. So far, as soon as the dose was starting to wear off did he slip into panic again, just like when Seungkwan left his side. He’d done that exactly once to use the bathroom and the panic it had caused had not been pretty. So he had stayed sitting up on the bed, Vernon’s head in his lap and running lazy fingers through his hair. Chan was sitting beside them and Jun and Minghao had somehow also curled up on the bed, not having let go of one another since they had arrived.

Woozi was curled up on a chair by the window, a breathing mask still over his face. He had started to hyperventilate on and off - every time somebody came too close to him - so to be safe he was still hooked up to the machine. He hadn’t gotten sick since the airport, unlike Dino - who had after it had finally really hit him what happened - rushed off multiple times to throw up, Jun or Joshua hot on his heels to comfort him.

Hoshi was sitting on a small table in the corner, close to Jihoon but also far away enough to give him the space he had requested, looking exhausted and also half-asleep.

Seokmin himself had been declared fine by the doctors - the feared concussion had not been proven by an MRI. His eye was slightly swollen shut from where he apparently had received an elbow to the face and his lip had been stitched but he was also high on pain meds, so he didn’t care much. 

The TV was on, volume low enough for members to sleep but loud enough for other members to distract themselves with it. Seokmin lazily looked up from his seat at Mingyu’s feet as the news started. 

Maybe they should have realized that it wasn’t the smartest idea. 

“After arriving from an overseas schedule the K-Pop group Seventeen has been mobbed at the Incheon Airport”, the reporter said in a monotone voice. A shaky video was blended in, obviously taken by smartphones. By fans, Seokmin realized with horror. People had filmed while they were so terrified for one another.

His heart stuttered in his chest as he saw the scenes he hadn’t been able to see earlier. The fan must have stood on the second floor and had zoomed in on the video, able to overview the crowd. 

There Seungcheol was, standing protectively over a curled up figure - Vernon - helplessly on the ground. His face was littered with the same injuries that had been treated but even on the video, even knowing he was fine, it looked terrifying. He never wanted to imagine how Seungcheol felt at that moment - literally the only shield, a very human shield between his member and a mob of scared, panicked fans. His mind circled back to the same question over and over again: What were you thinking, hyung?

He knew that Seungcheol would always do his best to protect his members but this visible sign that he’d rather get hurt than let his members come to harm, it shook Seokmin to the core. He’d never seen anything like that before, such a raw promise. You really love us with all your heart, don’t you, hyung?

The vocalist hadn’t even noticed how hard he was shaking nor had he noticed Seungcheol waking up until the husky voice of the leader called: “It’s alright, Seokmin-ah. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine. It’s in the past.” 

Tears in his eyes and whine in his throat, Seokmin threw himself over to the other bed, careful not to jostle Wonwoo’s foot or hit an injured part of Seungcheol, and fell into his leader’s arms.

“I was so scared, hyung”, he whispered as Seungcheol held him tightly, rocking them side to side with the leader’s shoulder lightly touching Jeonghan’s every time he moved to the left.

“I know, baby”, Seungcheol said, “but we’re safe now. Everything is fine.”

It wasn’t not yet, with so many of them injured and scared. Meetings for safety briefings laid before them and Seokmin felt terrible for wherever would have to face Seungcheol’s wrath for not sending enough guards. But as thirteen together? They were fine.

ATEEZ’s perspective: Day 3: "Please don’t leave me" - Alternate

Day 15: "Get me out of here!"

Masterlist links: Fairy's Masterlist 2024 Fairy's Masterlist 2025 Fairy's June of Doom 2024  

Notes: Wow, this turned out longer than expected. I have never been to Incheon Airport so this is my own creativity.

[letitbehurt]

Big fan of Whumpees who hide their wounds behind defiance and anger.

Big fan of whumpees who hide their fear behind defiance and anger

[mentalityofacoolduck]

Prompt #2

Hero is assigned to battle a whole group of villains. Hero doesn't mind it all that much since all they ever commit is minor theft and some other petty crimes. Hero eventually grows quite fond of these small time villains as they give Hero some kind of comic relief in their hectic life. They didn't realize how much they had actually grown fond of them, however, until they were laying on the ground, beaten and battered by their own team, trying to protect the villain group that had been framed for a crime that they didn't commit.

[ailesswhumptober]

Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2024

As promised, we're bringing you the official prompt list of AI-less Whumptober 2024 today!

We have 31 days of excellent whump prompts, with three prompts per day to pick from, fun themes, and 10 alt prompts to play around with. We hope you enjoy! Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut.

FAQ and Rules

What sort of content can I create for this event?

You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content.

Do I need to make 31 things to participate?

Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you.

What are these alts about?

If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice.

What are these themes about?

Just a little bit of extra fun for the mods. Like last year, we'll be handing out various badges for people participating in the event. A full list can be found here, perhaps there is a special badge or two for people who can't be completionists but who do manage to finish every single day of a specific theme ;)

How do I tag and is there an AO3 collection?

It suffices to tag your work with #ailesswhumptober for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw, since we'll be using that tag too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.

There is an AO3 collection to add your fics to here.

That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!

---

Plain text versions of the prompts:

October 1 - Torture Tuesday

public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

October 2 - Whumperless Wednesday

Unfortunate fall, car accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

October 3 - Trauma Thursday

Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

October 4 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.”

October 5 - Sensory Saturday

Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

October 6 - Surprise Sunday

Multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

October 7 - Medical Monday

Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

October 8 - Torture Tuesday

Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”

October 9 - Whumperless Wednesday

Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

October 10 - Trauma Thursday

Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

October 11 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”

October 12 - Sensory Saturday

Isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here, whumpee.”

October 13 - Surprise Sunday

Whumpee using themself as bait, defiance, “Take me instead.”

October 14 - Medical Monday

Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”

October 15 - Torture Tuesday

Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”

October 16 - Whumperless Wednesday

Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”

October 17 - Trauma Thursday

Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”

October 18 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”

October 19 - Sensory Saturday

Disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.”

October 20 - Surprise Sunday

Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, accidental de-aging, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”

October 21 - Medical Monday

Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”

October 22 - Torture Tuesday

Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.” October 23 - Whumperless Wednesday

Fever, passing out, “Hey?! Stay with me, okay?!”

October 24 - Trauma Thursday

Deconditioning, relapse, “It’s normal that you need more time.”

October 25 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Humiliation, betrayal, “How could you?!”

October 26 - Sensory Saturday

Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”

October 27 - Surprise Sunday

Before vs after, Alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

October 28 - Medical Monday

Internal bleeding, needles and stitches, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”

October 29 - Torture Tuesday

Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

October 30 - Whumperless Wednesday

Poison, delirium, “You’re not making sense.”

October 31 - Trauma Thursday

Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Alt prompts:

1) Pistol whipped

2) Co-dependency

3) Animal bite

4) Zombies

5) White room torture

6) Shock collar

7) Pulling teeth

8) Kidnapping

9) “You always make everything worse!”

10) “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...”

[sonofwhales]

ok but an interesting detail I've noticed in fiction after experiencing this myself.

Usually when fainting, a character's vision goes black and they might be out for hours. Now I'm not an expert as I have only fainted once, very recently. It was due to stress+food poisoning and I was trying to throw up when I heard my dad calling for me and like, I was in a state of confusion and one moment I was haunched over the sink and the next I was on the floor with him calling out for me (can cross that one out from the whumpy bucket list LMAO)

but like, I was out for literal seconds and there was no vision going black, didn't even feel the fall. I just feelt extremely weak and disoriented and had a very skewed passage of time. While I looove a good ol dramatic faint, I want to see more of that in fiction.

Just imagine, whumpee is injured and bleeding out, focused on standing up and determined to find their team but they feel as if the ground is moving under their feet.

When they see their group relief of being "safe" overtakes the adrenaline and one moment they see the group running towards them and the next they're laying in the arms of the leader, who is crying and calling out their name.

Whumpee can't understand why leader's expression seems so anguished.

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Whumpee chained to a post outside by Whumper in front of their crew — to be made an example of. Hands taut behind them, chains around their neck and waist, feet shackled. In nothing but their undergarments.

Now Caretaker who’s undercover within Whumper’s group, has no choice but to watch from a distance as their Whumpee suffers through a long cold night of wind and rain.

[casekek]

some whump tropes that i enjoy immensely

- whumpee being overstimulated by sensory stimuli - bright lights, loud/repetitive sounds, being touched, certain smells - and wincing or shrinking down to get away from it

- unresponsive whumpee who doesn’t give a crap anymore. theyd let someone push them over and theyd just topple to the side and lay there. they don’t respond to goodwill attempts to help, like having a bowl of warm food placed in front of them. they’ve checked out.

- familiar/casual whumpees - whumpees who are familiar with being treated a certain way so they don’t put up much of a fuss to being spit on or kicked. Just groan and move on with your day (could work rly well with ‘living weapon’ i feel)

- whumpees with collars!!!! it’s too dang good. especially if it’s a shock collar and they’re afraid to speak for fear of getting zapped. Bottom line is, you are property.

- whumpee being treated like a child and getting really pissed about it. bonus if the whumper has to resort to some atypical child behavior remedies to keep whumpee in their ‘role’ - such as chains, drugs, etc

- whumpee who refuses to part with an object, such as a mask, and freaks out if anyone so much as touches it.

- caretaker removing masks or collars when the time is right - only to catch whumpee wearing it again in fear or for comfort

- whumpees hands shaking so badly they can’t write or pick things up, and breaking things because their fine motor control is so horribly shot

- whumpee’s injuries being discovered by a group of caretaker friends; whumpee attempts to minimize and de escalate the damage they endured, while friend group is getting bent out of shape in horror over what was done to whumpee, and falling over each other to begin taking care of them

- whumpee being resuscitated and immediately leaping back into action without a thought to the fact that they just DIED; caretaker friend trying to get them to slow down and rest for one freaking second

- ANY kind of retrograde amnesia is soooo tasty. Especially when they don’t remember people they love and just stare at them with a blankly polite smile - OR whumpees who become aggressive with fear over not remembering anything!!

- whumpee seeing/hearing things and freaking out about it while caretaker tries to calm them down

[defire]

Whumpee tropes with their own perfect method of torture...

Submissive whumpees--getting confused about what their master wants them to do, and now terrified of punishment

Stoic whumpees--getting worn down by repetitive, relentless abuse until they crack and let out a sob... And then they just crumble

Defiant whumpees--being slapping/beaten for speaking, gagged or muzzled, tied up, left in stress positions until they beg

Living weapon whumpees--beaten for failing a mission, and also, being tortured by an enemy group for their owners' secrets

I think the key is an inner conflict (between their personality and what they want) when deciding how to respond under immense pressure.