#group whumpee

[definitelynotamouse]

“Let me go now.”

Weapon threatens, tugging on his chains.

These people are enemies, Weapon couldn't let his guard down around them.

The team looked at Weapon in shock and began to whisper among themselves.

“What do we do?”

“He wasn’t supposed to wake this early.”

“Do we wait for leader?”

Their whispering was staring to irritate him, so he decided to tug on his chains a bit more aggressively.

This quieted the whispers.

“I will ask again,” Weapon warned. “Let. Me. Go.”

Weapon really didn’t have time for this.

if Whumper finds out about this, then he’ll be getting more than just lashes.

[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.

[redd956]

My Fave Multiple Whumpee Tropes

Caretaker showed up to collect whumpee, however they feel guilty leaving the place without grabbing the others that whumpee happened to amongst

Caretaker showing up on scene, only to have to pry whumpee off another

Other whumpee(s) waiting for whumper to finish off with one of them. As soon as whumpee is dropped lazily into the room, and whumper is gone, they crowd around whumpee ready to do everything they can to make this better for each other.

Caretaker looking into whumpee’s cell, only to have to pick them out of a terrible looking group

Whumpees having no caretaker but each other. (And then they become found family)

Whumpees becoming protective over each other after recovering. 

Whumpees waking up in care, and looking around to make sure every single one of them is present. The look of relief on each other’s faces when they realize everyone has made it. Maybe they all joke and laugh despite still being confined to bedridden ways.

Whumpees calling out for another whumpee’s name, or another whumpee’s help

Whumper beginning to underestimate the group of whumpees, until it’s way too late, and they jump him

Caretaker going to rescue whumpee, only for other whumpee(s) to stand in their way, nearly growling as they tell Caretaker to stay back from their friend

A collective group of whumpees that all share the same bad backstory, something awful happens yet again (or reminds them), and caretaker doesn’t know what to do when they all react adversely different

[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.

Kieran was waiting at the table. Kieran 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,” Kieran 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 Kieran’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.”

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

Kieran 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 Kieran, 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 Kieran. 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?” Kieran 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 Kieran 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

[whump-blog]

Prompt 47

Ever since Villain's capture, he's been passed around between different hero teams. Some wanted to interrogate him, others take revenge, and a few just treated him like a servant.

Now, Villain finds himself with a new group of heroes, but they don't seem interested in him at all. He just sits in his assigned room, waiting for a hero to come in and either punish him for his crimes or find some use for him.

But as days go by without anything bad happening, Villain decides to take matters into his own hands. He steps out of his room and starts doing chores like cleaning, cooking, and whatever else he can to keep the heroes happy. Maybe if he proves useful, they'll take pity on him and let him stay a bit longer before passing him to the next team.

The heroes are surprised and concerned by Villain's behavior. He's constantly trying to please them and working hard for no apparent reason. Upon investigating, the team discovers the scars that cover Villain's body, revealing the abuses been going through.

[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 link: Fairy's Full Masterlist 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.

[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.

[whumppromptoftheday]

whumpee and co. being taken by villain. nobody knows whumpee’s past but something about the way they interact with villain makes them wonder if they’ve met before

[iamhumannotamonster]

Anyways I read a book where a group of scientists were testing some stuff to create and anti-depressive drug and while that was happening there was a subplot about some kind of animal killing the strays. It turns out the drug caused the scientists to act like violent beasts during the night and at the end all were killed in a fire except two that had to be locked up. They investigated for a cure while being conscious and had to be administered sedatives if they started to get savage again.

What I'm going with this is. Have your scientists whumpees suffer secondary effects from a drug of their own creation, alter their mind, reduce them to a monster, irreparably change their body to match with the deformation of their psyche and have them self-isolate to avoid hurting others while they desperately look for a cure.

[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.

[the-baby-storyteller]

I love when a team soothes a character.

I love when the character is hurt and pained with glossy eyes on the edge of tears when their friends get to them.

I love the shushing and holding and murmuring and gentle touches.

I love when the character gasps for air, pushing themselves to speak, trying desperately to get words out, and the team just gently rebukes them, tells them not to speak.

The character remembers everything that happened, the fear, the danger, the threatening words from their attacker. They have to let the team know, have to tell them, have to get it out now.

They try desperately to get the words out, gasping for air and choking on it, almost on the verge on tears as they sputter incoherently.

But the team, they know it’s important, they know they’ll need to be told. But they also know right now the character needs calm, needs to be calm, above all else.

So they shush them calmly against their pleas and protests, tell them to relax, to be calm, soothe them. The character nearly bursts into tears but they hold them softly and tell them it’s alright, it’s alright, right now they need to sleep.

The character, amidst their tears, is lulled to bed amongst the rocking of the teammate and their own strained pleas.

[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?

[whumppmuhw]

Whumptober Day 28: Peer pressure*

tw: multiple whumpers, group whump, gagged, restraints, blood, weapons, beating, slicing/cutting, hesitant whumper, (newly) sadistic whumper, long post

*alternate prompt

Multiple whumpers but everyone except the main two characters (whumper and whumpee) have names so it's less confusing :)

also more neopronouns!! because my characters deserve it

...

The music stopped, and the host of the party stood on a chair. She whistled loudly to get everyone's attention. Whumper didn't know her, he had only come to this party because of his friend.

"Alright everyone, time for the main event. Jonah, could you bring them out, please?"

Two guys, one supposedly Jonah, unlocked the basement door and headed down. While they were retrieving whatever was down there, the host and her friends closed all of the blinds and turned off most of the lights. Someone unrolled a worn out rug in the center of the living room, and the lamps around it were the only source of light.

Whumper was suspicious of...well, he didn't really know what was happening. He felt slightly anxious, and wanted to know what the hell was going on.

With impeccable timing as always, Whumper's friend Micah appeared beside him. Zhe was grinning, in an almost malicious way. "Are you ready, Whumper?" zhe whispered.

"Ready for what? Why did you drag me here?" he whispered sharply.

"Well, I know you enjoy parties, and the ladies here are very pretty-"

"You know that's not what I meant." Their conversation was interrupted by one of the host's close friends, telling the pair to find their places in a circle of everyone sitting around the rug. The two sat down next to each other, looking around at their fellow partygoers.

Micah chuckled softly. "Yeah, I know what you mean. So you know how you like all of those violent games, ones where you beat people up and get to mess around with them?"

"Yeah..." Whumper didn't think he would like where this was heading. They were just games, after all. Right?

"Well, you never seemed completely satisfied with how those games go. I thought you would appreciate the change for something more...realistic."

"The fuck do you mean by 'real-'"

He was cut off when everyone turned to watch Jonah and his friend drag someone up from the basement, kicking and struggling. Ae was covered in scars and wearing only a tanktop and shorts, which were torn and bloodied. Aer mouth was gagged, too tightly, preventing aem from screaming.

Whumper was mortified when everyone around him oohed and ahhed, including Micah. His heart dropped to his stomach when they dragged aem into the middle of the circle and tied aer arms and legs together. The party host stepped into the circle and planted her foot on aer back.

Whumper wanted to think about literally anything else, even for a second. He leaned into Micah, asking, "What's her name?"

"Carly. I thought I told you. Now shut up and pay attention."

"Everyone, I want you to meet Whumpee." Carly dug her foot deeper into aer back, making aem whimper under the gag. "Ae/aem. I want you all to be respectful of aer pronouns, it's the only respect I think ae'll get tonight."

A few people chuckled. Whumper wanted to get up and run, but the atmosphere of the room told him he was just as trapped as Whumpee.

"Thank you, Jonah," Carly stated as the stronger of the pair who had brought Whumpee up dragged a trunk full of weapons towards the group. Blades of all sorts, a whip, ropes, anything meant to make someone hurt. Micah was looking on with glee as zhe took a sip from zhir drink. Whumper thought he was going to faint.

"How we're going to play this: I'll draw a name from the hat with all of the guests' names in it, and you'll get a minute to do whatever you want. You can take something from the trunk if you want, but anything's fair game. Oh, except for killing. I want aem alive at the end of the night. Everyone ready?"

The guests started cheering, and Whumper clapped so he wouldn't look out of place. Someone handed Carly the hat, and she pulled out the first name. "Drew!"

Carly stepped away as Drew got up, a scrawny guy in a dress shirt and slacks. He peered into the trunk for a moment, pulling out a baseball bat. He grinned and walked over to Whumpee, who was curled in on aemself.

Whumper started to dissociate as the bat came down. People were cheering, Micah was enjoying it, and Drew seemed to be having the time of his life. Whumper's eyes were fixed on Whumpee, and he wanted to free aem more than anything. Whumpee didn't deserve this. Whumpee didn't deserve this. Whumpee didn't deserve this..

"Whumper!"

He snapped out of it. At some point Drew's time was over, and he had put away the bat and sat down. Whumper didn't really remember that, or why Micah was patting his back and people were cheering for him to get up.

"I don't feel so well, Micah."

"That's okay. Go release some of it. Come on, get up!"

Whumper got to his feet, feeling dizzy. He couldn't bear to look at Whumpee, so he went to the trunk and moved things around before pulling out a short dagger.

He hazily walked over to Whumpee and knelt beside aem. Aer eyes were wide, darting between Whumper's face and the blade.

"I'm so sorry," Whumper whispered, and Whumpee didn't look like ae believed him. Why would ae? I'm just going to hurt him, the same as everyone else here. I'm a monster.

Whumper brought the dagger up over his head, gripping tightly. He made the first slash and watched the dagger glide as it opened skin and fresh blood poured out. It had cut Whumpee's arm deeply, and ae tried to pull away.

For some reason, he wasn't exactly sure, Whumper didn't want that. The people around him were cheering, and some part of him told him he wanted more. The blade came down again, slicing Whumpee's lower back.

Everyone was watching in awe. Blood splattered all over Whumper's hands and clothes as he hurt Whumpee again and again. I wonder why Micah didn't bring me here sooner, he thought. I don't know why I was so scared. This is so easy; better than any video game.

He didn't want to stop when Carly called time; so to finish he stood up and kicked Whumpee right in the first cut, making aem squirm. His thoughts blocked out the cheers as he dropped the dagger in the trunk and took his spot next to Micah.

Why did that feel so good? Why did it have to end, would this be the last time?

"Dude, that was amazing! I told you you would love it." Micah was smiling, and Whumper wondered why he felt bad in the first place.

He was giddy. So, so giddy. He cheered the rest of the night, even louder when Micah got a turn. When it was over, Whumpee was wrapped in a towel to prevent blood spilling everywhere as ae was brought down to the basement and guests started to leave, thanking Carly for the amazing evening.

"Don't thank me, thank Whumpee!" she would say, and Whumper laughed the first time he heard it.

He and Micah volunteered to help clean up and were the last to leave. They chatted with Carly when everyone else left, revisiting the greatest moments of that night. Micah brought up dragging Whumper there at one point, then sat back and watched the conversation unfold.

"Wait, so you're telling me this was your first time?" Carly asked.

"Yeah, I wasn't sure I wanted to do it at first, but I'm glad I did."

"You did amazing!" Carly smiled, and Whumper blushed. "I'm glad you did, too."

"Why do you have aem down there in the first place? What'll happen after tonight?"

"Mostly just keeping aem down there and having some fun myself until I have some friends over or another party. It's fun, but you lose people quick when others are involved, and I don't know how much longer Whumpee will last."

"Well, I think it'd be a real shame if Whumpee had to die." Whumper wasn't sure where he was going with the conversation, but tonight he really didn't care.

"You're right," Carly said with a mischievous look. "I'll need to find someone else to bully soon anyway, and it'd be nice to have aem off my hands." She was waiting for him to respond, same as Micah. Zhe had never seen zhir friend like this before, and zhe think zhe liked this new Whumper.

"Well, I know someone who could take aem." Whumper smirked. "My basement is looking pretty empty right now."

"Ooooh, alright," Carly said playfully. "Ae's yours. How about I keep aem until next week, a final goodbye, then I'll help you set aem up."

"Sounds good to me. Micah, would you like to help me with my new friend?"

"You know I would. Though, if ae's going to die soon like Carly said, the body's yours to take care of."

"Deal." The three talked the night away, having a wonderful hell of a time at Whumpee's expense.

[weirdstrangeandawful]

Whumper makes a pact with Whumpee: they'll get clean together.

In reality, Whumper has never had an addiction; they just want to watch Whumpee suffer through the withdrawal, the urges, the relapses, the ups and downs and cesspools of shame that plague Whumpee's every waking -- and sleeping -- moment. And the excuses to berate Whumpee even further without anyone batting an eyelid because 'It's for their own good' and 'Don't worry, we agreed to it'.

[whumpshaped]

Counter, what if the whole group knows they might be murdered or tortured? There's too many to fight and not enough ammo, maybe take the cowards way out..?

counter. if whumpee knows theyre the main character than every option will lead to horrors.

advise everyone to continue fighting: basically sending friends to their death. friends might turn on them.

advise everyone to surrender: maybe theyre still sending friends to death. maybe they surrender and theyll come in and massacre everyone but whumpee. guilt.

panic and let the team decide: team might also say fuck it! we're giving you up to save ourselves! or team might insist on fighting and protecting whumpee who can feel horrible about it later

in any scenario, whumpee will be alive to experience the horrible guilt of getting everyone in a deadly situation and being the only one deemed important enough not to kill. maybe they only lose a couple more people and the rest of the team will forever despise whumpee for it.

maybe whumpee decides to end it. the enemy can never get them alive! but will that lead to the massacre of everyone else? maybe there were already a bunch of people who gave their life for whumpee's safety, and now theyll just off themself?

what if the team decides whumpee should die instead of getting captured? what if whumpee doesnt wanna die? death by teammates...