#infant whumpee

[mj-iza-writer]

Warning: infantilized Whumpee. Whumpee is baby and Whumper agrees.

"Are you my cute little baby?", Whumper cooed at Whumpee as they changed their diaper, "smelly baby is more like it, geesh."

Whumpee wiggled away while Whumper cleaned up.

"Don't go too far", Whumper spoke over their shoulder.

Whumpee tried to reach up for a higher shelf. They climbed up on their feet to get a better reach.

"Whumpee no", Whumper came from behind and smacked Whumpee's butt.

Whumpee jumped from the warning and slap. They fell to the floor with a bang.

They looked up at Whumper with tears threatening to fall.

"Oh no, did baby go boom on the floor", Whumper knelt down, "did that cause an owwy?"

Whumpee's lip quivered as they nodded.

"It's okay baby", Whumper scooped them into a hug, "that's why babies shouldn't be standing up", Whumper grinned and kissed Whumpee's forehead, "let's put on your bootys."

Whumpee struggled to get away, "ymhmm", Whumpee shook their head no.

"We have to Whumpee, you know better than to say no to me", Whumper reached for the slippers, "do you want another spanking?"

Whumpee watched Whumper for a second before pointing at the item they were trying to reach.

"Does baby Whumpee want their chewy?", Whumper reached up and grabbed it.

Whumpee nodded as they watched Whumper carefully.

"Alright, come here then, let's clip it on you", Whumper held it up.

Whumpee crawled to Whumper and stopped a few steps away.

"Very cute attempt", Whumper watched them stretch as far as they could, "you need to come a little closer."

Whumpee scooted a few inches.

"You're being ridiculous. These don't hurt you unless you stand up, and you know better than to stand up", Whumper sighed, "come here before I get up and get you."

Whumpee huffed in annoyance.

"Don't huff at me", Whumper warned, "I'll give you the icky syrup if you keep being disobedient."

Whumpee quickly scooted closer... anything to not have that sludge go down their throat.

"That's what I thought", Whumper clipped the toy holder onto Whumpee's outfit, "I have a feeling my mind control is losing its edge on you", Whumper tickled Whumpee's sides playfully, "do we need to fix that?"

Whumpee quickly put the toy in their mouth and happily chewed on it.

"You're probably hungry. We'll get breakfast once these booties are on you", Whumper grinned, "is my baby grumpy because your hungry."

Whumper slipped the booty onto Whumpee's foot, and made sure the bottom sat right, they then buckled the boot and locked it.

Whumpee whined as cold metal touched their feet.

"I know Whumpee, just don't stand up. The spikes won't hurt you then", Whumper started to put the other one on.

These boots were a soft padded slipper with a belt around the ankle. They could be adjusted and locked into place . Inside the slipper, a removable insert with a few dull spikes waited for the wearer to stand up. This would cause severe pain and cause the person to fall over. It normally didn't cause bleeding though.

Whumpee rolled onto their stomach when Whumper was finished.

"Let's go get breakfast", Whumper watched Whumpee try to pull at the slipper, "nuh-uh", Whumper smacked Whumpee's hand away, "do you want me to add the mittens?"

Whumpee cowarded away and shook their head no.

"Let's go get breakfast then", Whumper sighed.

Whumpee sat in a highchair type seat in the kitchen. Whumper fed them while also eating their breakfast and packing lunch for work.

Whumpee realized the weekend was over.

"Please don't leave me", Whumpee whispered, "I-I don't want to be alone."

"Wow a baby who can speak... amazing", Whumper turned, "who gave you permission to speak."

"I-I'm sorry, I just don't want you to leave me", Whumpee looked down.

"As much as I enjoy hearing that, I do, in fact, have to go to work", Whumper frowned as they gave Whumpee another spoonful of food, "trust me, I'd rather stay here and play with you all day, but I can't. I had a feeling you were breaking out of my mind control. You've been a bit more difficult than normal this morning."

Whumpee let another tear fall.

"No need to cry, little baby, I have something fun planned for you. Considering you just talked to me, I think you already know what that means for you."

Whumpee panicked, "no master please....I-I'll be go..."

Whumper forced another spoonful of food deep into Whumpee's mouth making them choke harshly.

"Save it", Whumper grinned, "sometimes the brainwashing wears off and you lose your edge. Nothing a little coaxing won't solve."

Whumpee was strapped into a sleep sack and tied into their crib. They could only wiggle now.

"It's a shame, you normally get to play while I'm gone now you have to lay here until I get home. Don't worry though, I'll let you have plenty of screen time."

Whumper adjusted a screen directly in front of Whumpee's face. They gave it a few wiggles to make sure it didn't fall on Whumpee.

"Please, I promise I'll be good", Whumpee panicked as Whumper attached an electrode sticker onto Whumpee's neck.

"I know you will be. It's okay, you just need a little mind adjustment, it happens occasionally", Whumper grinned as they attached a wire to the sticker, "this will send a small shock every ten minutes to make sure you stay awake while I'm gone."

Whumpee whimpered, "please."

Whumper showed Whumpee a pacifier gag, and forced it into Whumpee's mouth and locked it into place.

"You'll be able to drink water through that, you have a full container of water to keep you hydrated", Whumper laughed as they turned on the screen, "I'll be checking in on you throughout today with this camera here."

The first shock stung Whumpee.

"Ymph", Whumpee jolted, "pwease."

"Enjoy the screen time", Whumper chuckled as they snapped a picture and left.

Whumpee screamed into the gag as the video started. A never ending black and white spiral took over the screen. Next an extremely annoying song played in several different volumes: extremely loud to almost quiet.

Whumpee fought against restraints. They squeezed their eyes close and wished they could cover their ears, especially knowing what was coming next.

Another shock went into their neck, making them scream again.

"Whumpee open your eyes you cute little baby", Whumper's recorded voice came on. This video was a continual loop of Whumper saying the same de-aging triggers over and over. This mixed with the hypnotic spiral and sensory overloading music would put anyone in a trance. Then, to add being shocked every ten minutes to make sure you do not fall asleep, which is both painful and torturous, Whumpee was doomed to go numb again.

They had already felt their body stop fighting. Their eyes widened as they stared at the screen.

Their mind kept yelling to move... or do something to fight for their freedom.

All fight left them. The spiral was just to beautiful and Whumper talked in such a soothing voice. They wanted their master back to see how good they were being. This song was so catchy.

"Ah, ah, ah", Whumpee tried to sing along until their eyes closed.

A shock jolted them awake again.

Drool pooled down the sides of their mouth now.

'Pretty colors', Whumpee thought to themself.

Whumper grinned as they watched Whumpee from their desk at work.

"They are long gone", Whumper chuckled, "they still have a long time to. Their brain will be like jello at the end of this."

A little before Whumper was to leave work they logged on to see Whumpee again.

Whumpee was crying uncontrollably. The overstimulation had gotten to them more than Whumper had wanted.

Whumper watched as Whumpee's back arched up in pain as another shock came through.

"Yep, you have definitely had too much now", Whumper sighed, realizing nine hours was probably too long for the mind control program to be watched.

Whumper hurried into Whumpee's room and hurried to turn the program and shock mechanism off.

Whumpee shook weakly.

"Aww, is my little baby okay?", Whumper cooed.

Whumpee sobbed as they tried to get out.

"That was scary for my baby... I'm here now. You're okay", Whumper hurried to untie Whumpee and free them from the sleepsack.

Whumpee quickly rolled to the further side of the crib and sniffled.

"It's okay baby come here, we'll get your diaper changed, and we can have a snack before dinner", Whumper tried to reach for them.

Whumpee tried to stand up.

"No Whumpee the slippers", Whumper tried to stop them.

Whumpee screamed as they fell over.

"Whumpee, it's okay, I need you to take a deep breath for me little one", Whumper tried to pull them out of the crib, "come here."

Whumpee continued to cry as Whumper finally got a good grip to pull them up.

"My poor baby", Whumper lowered themself and Whumpee to the ground, "I over did it."

Whumpee struggled for a second before finally burying their face into Whumper and crying.

"I know, it's okay. Let it all out", Whumper rubbed their back, "you've never had to go that long with that video playing. That was not a good idea for my little baby."

Whumpee quieted, but their body shook. They jolted again as though the electrode was still on them.

"Ahh, my baby", Whumper sighed, "come on let's get your diaper changed, and we can have some cookies while I make dinner. You are such a good baby."

Whumpee thought for a second before weakly nodding.

They laid quietly while Whumper changed them. No happy babbles like normal.

Even after watching the video for a while, Whumpee hadn't been this disoriented by it.

Whumper sighed, "I guess next time I'll just tie you down and regress you later. I shouldn't play with mind control so recklessly. I don't want you brain dead... not yet at least."

Whumpee watched them, but they didn't react to anything Whumper was saying. Their eyes were dull.

"Look at those lifeless eyes of yours", Whumper sighed while booping Whumpee's nose, "let's see if my little baby is in there still."

Whumpee was sat in their play pen in the living room. Some of their favorite toys were spread out for them to play with. Whumper then carried in a sippy cup of milk and a container of cookies.

Whumpee crawled to where Whumper sat the cookies and grabbed one.

"Well that's a good sign", Whumper stated in relief, "you're still food motivated."

"Hu-hu", Whumpee mumbled.

"I bet you're hungry... dinner is almost ready", Whumper smiled, "is my baby coming back?"

That evening Whumper lifted Whumpee to the couch and started to cuddle them.

"I see a little more life in your eyes now", Whumper grinned, "I bet you're sleepy though."

Whumpee rested their head on Whumper's chest.

"Aww my poor baby.... so sleepy", Whumper patted their head, "tomorrow will be a better day."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @sunglasses-in-the-bentley

[patchworkorphan]

The Hero and the Infant: Part Two

Read part one here

*~*~*~*~*

“Villain.”

The hero didn’t shout it. They didn’t need to. Villain would hear them fine even over all the destruction and screaming and emergency services. Hero just stared from the street up at Villain and Villain looked down at Hero. Hero lifted their hand in a wave and then pulled the cigarette from their lips, exhaling a lungful of smoke.

“Hero –” sidekick began but Hero shook their head.

“It’s okay kid. I got it from here,” Hero said still staring at Villain. “So, you gonna invite me up or do I have to climb twelve flights of stairs?”

Villain just stared. Sidekick moved forward, suddenly hesitant in bringing Hero here. Just as they opened their mouth to say it to Hero, Sidekick was wrenched into the sky by an invisible hand and suddenly Hero and the street were below them.

“Fucking shit,” Hero cursed, flicking their cigarette to the ground as they started running to the apartment building to the left of Villain and taking the stairs two at a time.

Villain stared at Sidekick with a probing, scientific kind of curiosity, like they were able to look under Sidekick's skin and unravel all their secrets with enough determination.

“You’re new,” Villain purred. Their voice like liquid silver dancing its way through the sky to Sidekick’s ears sending a shiver down their spine.

“Yeah. I’m Superhero’s sidekick.”

Villain tilted their head to the side and asked, voice deadpan, “do you know the mortality rate of Superhero’s previous sidekicks?”

Sidekick stared Villain in the eye as they said, “I do.”

“And you took the job anyways?”

“I did.”

“Hmm. Not very chatty. You remind me of an old friend of mine.”

“Forgive me, I don't usually chitchat while floating this high in the air."

"Hmm," Villain rumbled, "how about falling?"

For a single terrifying moment, Sidekick felt gravity's effects on them, yanking them back to earth and they gasped, reaching forward and grabbing Villain's leg like their life depended it.

"NO! Nononononononononono, wait! FUCK!" Sidekick cried as their grip on Villain faltered and they slipped. They fell an inch further in the air before they were suspended again, this time with their back to the ground below, staring up at Villain with wide frightened eyes. The only thing keeping them from the hard tarmac below thirteen stories below and being alive.

Villain turned over in the air, rolling onto their stomach and lying like a schoolgirl on their stomach with two hands supporting their head as they grinned down at Sidekick, drinking in their fear.

"You sound just like my favourite hero, Sidekick. I knew letting you fall would loosen your tongue a bit."

Villain was fucking insane, Sidekick realised, their heart still pounding like a rabbits at seeing a hungry dog catch their eye.

"Hero, I’m guessing?" Sidekick said eventually, though their voice still came out higher than it should have.

Villain smiled a fond smile that went to their eyes and lit up their entire face. “Yes. My dear cantankerous hero, so foul-mouthed."

“I met them today," Sidekick said, just trying to keep Villain talking and keep themselves suspended until Hero was able to talk Villain into hopefully letting Sidekick go. Where the fuck were they?

Villain's interest was piqued and they dove slightly towards Sidekick, grabbing Sidekick by the collar of their shirt and sitting on their waist, legs dangling over either side. Somehow, Villain made sure that even flying in the air, Sidekick could still feel the restrictive weight of Villain on top of them.

"And what did you think of them?" Villain asked.

What did Sidekick think of Hero?

"They were... difficult," was the first word that came to mind. Villain grinned and nodded sagely, agreeing with Sidekick as if it was a sacred moment.

“Nothing easy is worth having, Sidekick. Some parting advice.”

“You’re letting me go?”

“Oh yes,” said Villain with a disarming smile. “Quite literally.”

Sidekick didn’t have time to process Villain’s words before Villain shoved Sidekick down below them and wind rushed through their clothes, through their hair, through them as they fell like a comet to earth. This was how they died.

Then their momentum stopped suddenly, and they were swinging into a brick wall, their arm yanked out of its socket and Sidekick cried out in pain. Craning their neck up, they tried glancing up to see Hero above them, leaning half out a broken window, two feet planted on the sill and pulled Sidekick up despite their cries and cursing.

“God, I know. I’m sorry Sidekick. You shouldn’t have been here, god where the fuck is Superhero in all this!” Hero pulled Sidekick in the window and into their chest before stepping back and setting Sidekick down on the window sill.

“Fucking what the fuck?!” Sidekick mewled cradling their arm to their chest.

“I'm sorry, Villain doesn’t usually act like this,” Hero told them.

Sidekick blinked, pain lancing through their shoulder and down into their chest. “What?”

“They don’t usually act this way. First impressions are everything, but I swear there’s good in them.”

Sidekick blinked at Hero, shaking their head. “You’re defending them?!”

“Well, it’s my fault you see. This whole temper tantrum. I haven’t been returning their texts.”

“You haven’t—” Sidekick asked, then blinked and let out an exasperated “what?!”

“Your shoulder—” Hero said. “It’s dislocated.”

“No fucking shit!" Sidekick mewled. "You yanked it out of its socket!”

“Would you rather be a splat on the concrete? Cause I can still push you out the damn window, kid.”

Sidekick walked to the stairwell, fury and pain mixing in their heavy breaths as they braced themselves against the wall. Hero stepped forward a warning on their lips: “kid, I wouldn’t do th—”

It was too late. Sidekick had already thrown themselves against the wall. A resounding pop echoed throughout the stairs, followed by a sharp shriek of pain from Sidekick as they slid down the wall, breathing harshly through gritted teeth.

Hero opened their mouth, but Sidekick just held up a finger from their good arm and wagged it in Hero’s stupid face: “don’t. Say. A thing.”

Sidekick braced themselves against the wall, sliding up it with a groan of pain and rolled their shoulder. Forwards. Backwards. Then they set their furious eyes on Hero and without a word turned and started ascending the stairwell to the roof.

Hero laughed, stunned at the kid’s resilience, and followed them up the stairs. “Do you want some—”

“Just shut the hell up,” Sidekick said, kicking the door to the roof open and looking down pointedly at Hero who was midway through taking a bag of sweets from their pocket. “And go out and do your job.”

“Yes boss,” Hero said with a smile, putting a fizzy lace through their teeth. They emerged onto the roof, arms spread wide and yelled: “Hey! What the fuck are ya doing?” to Villain who was no doubt still floating in the sky, and Sidekick sat down heavy on the steps and took a few deep breaths.

They nearly just died.

Villain almost just killed them.

They would have killed them if not for Hero, and all they wanted to do was cry, but they were too angry.

“Just go out and do your job,” Sidekick chastised themselves, standing and wiping the remnants of tear trails from their cheeks before joining Hero on the roof.

Crying could come later if they lived that long.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued Here

[carosbee]

Whump Scenario

Whumpee was born inside of a lab, half human and half wires. They think just like a human, they feel pain just like a human but will never be a human.

Whumper finds them as an infant (for worse) and they are owned as property by them. Until Whumper's base is raided and Whumpee is taken to a human rights organisation specialising in Whumpees.

Whumper sees their day in court, however it's delayed by the case deciding whether Whumpee counts as human or not. It's declared they don't, and Whumper is let free and given back Whumpee.

Except Whumper sues the human rights organisation for theft and uses the fact that Whumpee isn't legally human to film Whumpee's usual torture and post it online (after all, no humans harmed).

Whumpee doesn't mind; they've never known anything different.

[dainluvr]

Ok but Imagine Whumpee who just wants to be treated normally, who is tired of everyone around them babying them. They just want to pretend like Whumper never even existed in their life and everyone always walking on eggshells around is just a reminder of what they’ve become. They just want to be a normal member of the family/ team again.

At first they don’t say anything, assuming it’s just a matter of how strange everyone must feel to finally have Whumpee back with them, but it doesn’t, it keeps going and going and going. The more Whumpee keeps bottling it down the worse it becomes. They try to convince themselves it’ll pass soon, just another day, just another week, just another month.

One day they physically can’t take it anymore so they snap. Screaming at everyone to stop treating them like a goddamn infant. They know what they’ve been through and they don’t want that memory to be refreshed, but it is, every time someone apologises for saying something that might hurt them, every time someone stops talking when they come into the room. They can feel it, they know people are treating them different from before the incident, they know they themselves are a different person to what they used to be, even though they might not want to admit it, and they just want it all to stop.

[chaotic-orphan]

Master post of series:

{Slowly moving updated versions of these series to @macknus account, if you'd like to read updated versions :) [23/09/24]

All the links bring you to part one and the next parts are linked at the bottom of the post!

I will add the once off Whump drabbles overtime :)

Intoxicating fear

(Scared hero x telepath Villain) [male hero/villain]

Delirious villain x hero caretaker

Vendetta

(heroes vs villain war) [gen neutral, everyone]

Defiant Leader x confident villain

Supermax prison

(Supervillain and rookie guard) [gen neutral]

[There is only one part to supermax prison but it will be updated soon :) ]

Heroic betrayal

(hero betrayed by other hero) [female whumpee/male whumper(s)]

The stranger

(vigilante Whumpee) [male whumpee/whumper]

The immortal Hunter

(vampire whump) [male whumper/whumpees]

Villain’s gift

[Supervillain gives Villain a present for their birthday]

The hero and the infant

(grumpy hero x superhero sidekick)

Partners in Crime

(Charismatic Whumpee, goons and Powerful Whumper) [male whumpee/whumper]

A Benignant Mischief

(Fantasy found family, young elf outlaw captured by enemy kingsmen whose orders are to capture any elf for trial before the King/ hurt/comfort— ish, it’s giving fuzzy vibes) [male whumpees]

Twisted Love

{needs reconstruction, standalone piece for now}

(Hero lady Whumpee x villain male Whumper; creepy, intimate Whumper, absolutely zero consent, villain is a freak, be warned)

WHUMPTOBER 2024 👻

Febuwhump Masterpost

Hero/Villain Drabbles:

Whump drabbles Masterpost

June of doom (JoD):

JoD Day nine: part one / part two / part three

( I intend to make this into a series I just forgot about it until today)

[scrimblobimblowhump]

i’m so weak for weak, fragile whumpees being taken care of in an infant-like manner. like fuck yeah, carry them against your chest if they’re too weak to walk, hold them skin-to-skin (for comfort or rewarming from hypothermia - or both!), bathe them, spoon-feed them broth or gruel if they cannot digest any solids or need gentle rewarming from the inside, swaddle them in blankets and cradle them in your arms, gently rocking them back and forth so they can fall into deep sleep, contact-sleep with them to help them feel safe…

in a way, being rescued and starting your life anew - having so many things to relearn how to do or heal from - is like being newborn

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

If it’s not too much to ask, may I humbly request time travel prompts with mentor whumpee and just team whump in general?

tw: mentions of murder, betrayal, childhood trauma, abuse & self-sacrifice.

each of the prompts is not necessarily connected.

*the last one is my personal favorite ;)

whumpee and the team have to travel back to the past to try to prevent their fate.

oh no! whumpee, who traveled back in time to the past for a mission, comes back as an infant version of themself! literally.

an evil witch gives whumpee a chance to stay in the past for eternity with the love of their life who has passed away. however, if whumpee chooses to stay, all of their teammates will die (and the witch will get all of their souls). is the life of whumpee’s dead significant other worth the lives of their friends?

whumpee travels back in time to the past for a mission that is not related to their childhood trauma, the trauma that no one else in the team knows about, only for said trauma to be triggered by something (or someone) in their past.

whumpee is visited by their future self and is warned by their future self that their own teammates will betray them. according to the future self, the only way whumpee can survive the betrayal is for whumpee to kill them first. the thing is that whumpee is sometimes a liar. sometimes. not always… so can whumpee trust their own future self?

during the time traveling, something goes wrong which causes some (or all of the team) to get trapped in some other dimension / other timeline / the future or the past, etc. their entire existence could be in jeopardy if they couldn’t find a way back home / to the present / to their timeline in time.

something goes wrong during the time-travel mission, which causes one of the teammates to lose all of their memories. mentor whumpee and the rest of the team have no idea how to give their friend their memories back, but they’ll never abandon them.

mentor whumpee leads their team to the future for a mission, their teammates realize that the future is better and suddenly no longer want to go back to the past (their home). whumpee has to do whatever it takes to bring their own wayward teammates home, otherwise the reality will be broken and they all will be dead.

whumpee travels to the future and meets their future self, the problem is that their future self turns out to be a murderer who kills all of whumpee’s teammates, their current friends.

whumpee is forced to kill their future or past self in order to prevent an event, a tragedy, from happening, even if that means they’ll die, too.

after a time-travel mission, whumpee comes back to the present / back to their team “wrong” — no one knows what happened to them during the mission, since whumpee says, “nothing happened, the plan went well,” which is true; the mission was a success, but whumpee is not the same since they returned home.

whumpee “changes” something when they time travel, they don’t think much about it… until they return home to the present and realize what a grave mistake they’ve made, for that one tiny change they’ve made affects everything.

whumpee saves a child when they travel back in time to the past and brings said child to the present with them, they have no idea that the child they rescue is literally themself when they were a kid. this is because whumpee is so abused and traumatized to the point their brain blocks out all the memories of their own childhood trauma.

whumpee and all of their friends live in different timelines, different eras. all of them have trauma and are abused / traumatized. somehow they all time travel (some back in time, some to the future) to be together — outside of time — in order to form a team of Found Family Consists of Tortured Souls whose mission is to rescue as many abused people/animals as they can.

[the-rad-pineapple]

Day 21 of @augusnippets

hallucinations (featuring the worthless US healthcare system)

part 2

He gets these…visions. Hallucinations would be a more fitting term, but he’s still in denial about what’s happening. Because it must be fixed. But he’s already seen three different doctors, already paid over $600 total, and used up all his PTO to find out what the hell is wrong with him with no results. The doctors all gave some ideas, but nothing is definitive. They need to take more tests to know for sure what’s wrong with him. But that only costs more money and time—two things he’s freshly out of.

An MRI would be next, but it’s not covered by his insurance, and he doesn’t have thousands of extra dollars to just spend. So. He’s sort of left to deal with these visions all on his own. Maybe one day if he ever saves enough, he’ll get that MRI. But for now, he’s going to have to learn how to manage this on his own.

Being the supervisor for this shitty, cramped gift shop is enough to make anyone go insane, but now he has to try and deal with these hallucinations, too?? Utter bullshit.

The first couple hours of his shift are a breeze. It’s as if his mind resets after sleep, fending off the hallucinations for a few hours. Sometimes he doesn’t see shit until the end of the day. But other times he’s tripping by noon.

He’s hurriedly refolding a pile of t-shirts some parents watched their kids topple over. It’s too stuffy in the small gift shop, and he feels sweat build beneath his uniform and wishes he was home. The buzz of the fluorescent lights seems louder, and their light seems harsher. Which is not good. When he’s this sensitive to sight and sound, it’s a good indicator a migraine will be paired with his hallucinations today.

Fuck.

He adjusts the top shirt of his recently folded pile when he hears a crash across the room. He closes his eyes, summoning his patience with a deep sigh. He hears one of his coworker’s frightful scurry beelining towards him. 

“Whumpee,” she says timidly. She’s the typical teen summer worker: a hard worker not quite jaded by retail (yet), still treating every incident with utmost seriousness. 

He sighs. “Yes, I heard.” 

“She doesn’t want to pay, but her baby knocked it over.” 

Whumpee glances over to the problem customers, and his heart freezes before jackhammering loudly in his chest. 

A baby’s head lays on the floor, haloed in a puddle of dark blood. There’s movement, and Whumpee’s eyes instinctively stick to it. The infant’s mother is still holding the child’s headless corpse. The corpse has glistening blood all down the front of it. The mother’s hands are covered in it, and she glares annoyedly at Whumpee. 

He blinks, and she’s a regular peeved woman holding a regular baby (head still attached, blood-free, etc.). 

A sharp ache thuds in time with his heartbeat right between his eyes. 

Today is going to be a long fucking day.

[beatingmaddness]

I'm definitely not projecting 👁👁, but imagine giving a whumpee the illusion of choice. Being a bad caretaker by not giving the whumpee any choice.

"Do you want to go to bed or the hospital?"

"hospital," the whumpee answers, knowing they desperately need the attention. What they don't know is that the caretaker already made the decision: the hospital either way.

Asking them if they want a blue or red shirt, no choice in whether they want the shirt. Asking if they want some help doing a task, but if the whumpee says no, they are still helped. Infantizing the whumpee by not trusting their sense of decision. Trapping the whumpee in a state of being constantly controlled and micromanaged. No choice on any matter of their autonomy.

They are going to wear that, they will take a bath, they have to eat. It's not a choice despite being presented as such. Their caretaker has made these decisions for them; they made the decisions for the good of them.

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #28: Lovesick

Masterlist

content: immortal whumpee, captivity, starvation, force to eat

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If Heather ever bothered to ask, Jackie would have told her that the boredom was the worst part. That was not to say the loneliness or the hunger were bearable. Still, if he wasn't bored, then he wouldn't have been as lonely. Or would isolation drive away all his happiness? Could anything occupy his attention in the heavy silence? If he wasn’t lonely, he wouldn’t have been bored. Or maybe he’d still get sick of his life confined in that one room, that one tiny box. If he wasn't hungry, starving to the point of restlessness, he could have slept his life away. But he would have to wake up eventually, and it was always awful to be torn away from his dreams again. 

Locked down there, his dreams only served to taunt him. He dreamt of all the things he wanted. Going back home, going back to his apartment. Food. So much food, whole feasts of it. Mountains of bread, valleys of fruit, every dessert his subconscious could think of. He dreamt of everything and everyone he missed. His neighbours. His coworkers. His sisters, though he couldn’t quite remember their faces. Heather, the only person he’d spoken to for weeks on end. The sunshine, the grass, the summer sky and the clear treble of birdsongs. He had nightmares, sometimes, but he was used to them.

It was... it would be redundant to tell her how it felt. He would have done anything to get Heather back. It became increasingly clear to Jackie that Heather was the only person who had ever cared about him. She hadn't been the nicest, but she really did care about his happiness. Hadn’t she said so when they first met? She bought him a bed and new clothes and even a book, brought him food and painkillers when he needed it. He missed all her tics, all her charms, the freckles near her eyes, the pitch of her voice. Just to hear another voice, just to see another person. Desperation made all things sweet.

He thought he would never get out. The basement would be his tomb. The locked door, his god, his only companion. He would often sit near the door, on the stairs, just to feel closer to other people. Velveteen rabbits and broken dolls, they knew what a horror it was to be alone. There was only time, and there was only memory. But how long would that last? He was already starting to forget Heather’s face, already losing the sound of her voice. She appeared as a dark figure in his dreams, standing, never speaking, never moving. A shadow at his shoulder. A marble statue. A paper cutout, a silhouette. 

If Heather ever asked him what isolation was like, he would not be able to answer. It wasn't loneliness, melancholy and gentle, all those fragile things that kept people lonely, but not alone. He was alone. Alone, completely alone, stranded in negative space. There was nothing else, nobody else. 

He was terrified of it, of the empty walls, like children were afraid of the dark. It was a savage thing to feel, something feral and inconsolable. Infants couldn’t survive without human contact. Babies born of neglect lost their ability to speak, to walk, then ceased to function at all. Monkeys clung to wire mothers and cloth effigies. What was it about other people? Other living things? What made them so special? These were just abstract punishments and physical barriers. Maybe he was better off without anyone to hurt him, but that wasn’t much of a comfort. Logic and sensibility could rot, for all he cared. He ached for skin and the pressure of touch, hungered for it. Sometimes, he thought he’d prefer being cut open. At least the pain would be felt quickly, then. Things would return to normal, once he healed. At least he wouldn’t be alone.

But his punishment was over now. Heather had decided, on another abstract whim, to let him out. When Jackie woke up, he didn’t know where he was. But he wasn’t in the basement. That, in and of itself, was an immense consolation.

There was a heavy weight on him. There was… a blanket on him. Not his own blanket, but a new one, something knitted and gray. In his chest, where the scalpel had gouged his heart, there was a steady ache of pain.

He tried to open his eyes, but the light was too bright to see through. It sent a sharp force reeling through his head. He became aware of his body, lying down on something soft but rigid-backed. Jackie tried to sit up, but he couldn’t move if the room went up in flames. He became aware of a hand on his head, soothing him back down.

“Shh,” came the voice, though he hadn’t said anything. “Don’t move.”

He didn’t want to stay still. He didn’t want to sleep. In isolation, he fully resigned himself to dreaming his life away, but now he was out. He was free from that locked door. There were better things to do. Sunnier prospects to dwell on. He had received his fair share of silence already, his pound of flesh. The quiet filled him like concrete. He was fully sick of it. That was too much to say, though. It was easier to lie back down.

Nausea came over him, steady as the tides—waves, ebbing and flowing, against the back of his throat and behind his eyes, threatening to make him retch and heave. It was a bit like being carsick, he thought. Where was he? This felt too much like a childhood memory, waking up in those muffled and unfamiliar places. But he wasn’t alone, which was all that mattered. The pressure of skin, the weight of another body. The only answers he needed.

“Can you hear me?”

He would have spoken, but his lips would not move. He instead gave her a small nod.

“Wake up.” She shook his shoulder. “Open your eyes, Jackie.”

He tried, but the light shone in his eyes, so he had to screw and squint against it. He blinked a few times, trying to make out the shapes of things around him.

“Hello,” said Heather. Her features were still blurry, indistinct. “How are you feeling?”

It was crucial that he replied. He opened his mouth… the words failed him, now. How was he feeling? Maybe God knew, but Jackie sure didn’t. Such things sunk to the bottom of his thoughts like rocks in water.

“Feeling better?”

He nodded again, or made an attempt to.

“Good. You look awful, you know. You must be starving. I brought you food.”

A bowl of something hot. Porridge. Thick porridge, nearly the consistency of cake. So hot that it was steaming, white wisps curling above it. In front of the sofa, on the coffee table. He was on a sofa, Jackie realized, in her living room.

She pushed the table towards him. He'd been so hungry, locked down there. Eventually, he started eating pages out of Oliver Twist, though they never silenced his pangs. A mortal could only starve for a few months—how long had he been alone? Long enough that his body had gotten the message, and stopped asking for food at all.

And there lay the problem. He had no appetite. His hunger faded near the end. He barely thought of eating anymore. But what did that matter? Food was a point of contention between them, and he had no desire to incur her wrath again. Better to just swallow and get along with her and keep safe—better to roll over and keep quiet, just to win her affection.

With an uneasy hand, he took the spoon. It had been so long that he almost didn't know how to. The position of the metal felt unfamiliar in his palm. Heather watched him carefully. Would he be graded on this? Oh, ha ha. But this was indeed a test, to see how far his compliance went.

The porridge was hot enough to sear his tongue. He tried to swallow, which triggered a fit of gagging.

"What’s wrong?" 

She sounded so sweet and patient, which he knew was a bad sign. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize."

Comments on Winston Churchill came to mind, but he said nothing back. He tried to swallow again—it was like trying to eat glass, or metal, because his body was adamant about not letting anything in. His gagging was accompanied by spurts of painful, hoarse coughing.

And there lay an even worse problem, another layer to the nesting doll of his terrible, terrible life. He physically could not eat. His biology, his perfect system of flesh and blood, had forgotten how. Not so perfect, then. Enough to keep him alive, but incapable of much else. It was hopeless to try. 

"Jackie."

It was a warning. He knew that, of course he knew. He looked up at her helplessly. 

"Eat."

His voice was cracked, small. "I can't."

"Yes, you can."

He tried to swallow, once more. Tears pricked the edges of his eyes and the tips of his lashes. Revulsion shuddered through his body, and he was afraid of throwing up. That would be bad. If he was in trouble now, he'd be in the maw of hell then.

"Are you going to refuse to eat again?"

He shook his head, trying to keep his stare down at the spoon. "I'm trying."

"You’re not trying hard enough."

There was no way out of this, then. The trap had already snapped shut. This was the consequence of his pride, the consequence of his anger. Why had he ever hoped for escape? Where had that gotten him? Behind the locked door of the basement, left alone to rot and starve and pray for death. This was Heather’s retaliation, the price for hurting her. An eye for an eye. 

"I told you to eat."

He didn't do anything at all. Better to stay still and get it over with. It would be over soon, if he just kept his eyes down and let her do what she wanted. It would all be over soon. He would be okay.

"That was an order."

He winced. But he didn’t do anything, because what could he do?

“Are you hungry, Jackie?”

He shook his head.

She took the bowl from the table, held it above him like a battle-axe, like a sword, like a guillotine glinting in the harsh sunlight. The curtains were drawn, and the room was dim, but she looked so bright then.

"It’s okay,” she said. “But I can't let this go to waste, can I?"

She slammed the bowl down. It smashed into his shoulder, sending pain cracking white-hot down his arm. The scalding porridge splattered, pouring over his clothes and his thin limbs, leeching onto him. He gasped.

It seared like liquid metal, like a branding iron on his lap and chest, pressing a deep and hazy burn into his skin. He tried to pull away, but Heather pinned his shoulders down. The cold fervour of spite lay heavy in her fixed, unflinching gaze. She didn't hesitate. He could only stare back into her eyes and cry.

So this was his penance, the cost of biting the hand that fed. He could not turn away, and he could not hide. He could not fight, not anymore. He could not make her stop. He was like a child again, pathetic and helpless and small. He couldn’t speak. He was stuck, paralyzed. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t move, but he felt it all in such excruciating detail, taking it all in like a prophet’s hallowed words. 

“What did you expect?" she said.

He continued to sob, tearing his gaze away and curling into himself as tight as he could. His entire body hurt, not just the burns and the cuts, but a permeating ache throughout his flesh. Everything hurt.

Her hand lifted away. "Calm down. It's only porridge. You'll be fine."

Jackie barely heard her. Another sob racked him—he coughed, too, which made the pain flare up again.

Her hand came to his face. He flinched, tried to bury himself in fabric, but he couldn't avoid her touch. She tried to tilt his face towards her, but he held on and continued to cry harder. His shoulders shuddered, shook, and his chest went tight.

She let out a small noise of irritation. "Stop moving. You're getting your tears all over my sofa. And—" He heard the sound of shifting fabric as she gestured to the sofa. "You've gotten porridge all over it. Do you know how hard it is to clean porridge?"

He did not reply, only wept. She didn't say anything else. 

The seconds crawled on in silence, otherwise. 

It seemed like she'd gotten what she wanted, or she was bored, because after a while Jackie realized that Heather was gone. She had left, and he was alone again.

This set him into more of a panic than the burn ever could. "Heather?" He forced his hoarse voice to call out for her. "Heather? Come back. Please."

There was no response. Jackie hugged a pillow, which was conveniently placed near his chest, and tried not to cry too loudly. He would have found this whole affair embarrassing, once upon a time, but he was too tired to care. 

Faintly, he could hear the clock ticking on the mantle. The steady repetition comforted him. 

A minute or so passed. At some point, he could hear footsteps echo down the hall. After they stopped, he was startled by a hand on his shoulder. He whimpered.

"Jesus." She exhaled. "You're a grown man. Don't—just, shut up for a minute. Stop that."

He could not, in fact, stop that. He could not help the waterworks any more than he could help feeling pain. It was instinct, as impulsive as breathing. It was simply a reaction of his body, simply a biological response. It would be the end of him.

Heather pushed him over, so he was lying on his back and propped up by a sofa arm. He let her do this, because he didn't want her to leave again. From somewhere, she conjured up a tissue and dabbed at his face.

"Honestly, this is ridiculous." She dabbed at the corner of his eyes, wiped his cheeks. She was oddly gentle in going about it. "If I wanted to baby people around, I’d become a nurse. This is—this is preposterous. Shut up." He stopped his whimpering at once, and she continued talking, still cleaning him up. “You have such a low pain tolerance. I’ve seen little girls who cry less than you. Are you a man or a wet blanket? Hm? I asked you a question.”

She stopped her dabbing for a moment. Jackie stared at her with panic in his heart and a blank mind. What was he supposed to say? He’d barely been listening. All this crying had exhausted him.

“Never mind. God, you’re useless.” She conjured yet another tissue and began scraping off the porridge. “I would have just cut you open, if I knew you were going to be like this. Stop whining.” He swallowed his sobs again. She paused for a second before speaking. “I’m not cutting you open. I’m tired of hearing you mewl all day. That’s what you are. A sopping wet kitten. Like a baby cat. All… damp and stuff. Oh my God, what am I even doing?” 

She stopped cleaning to stare wearily at the rest of the house, a distracted frown in the corners of her mouth. The tissue hung limply from her hand. Jackie took this moment to roll back onto his side, hiding his face under the blanket again. 

“No. Get back up, I still have to feed you.” Reluctantly, he let her push the blanket off. “Sit up straight. You’ll choke if you lay down.”

He did as she asked. From the coffee table, she retrieved a bowl of soup. It was a vibrant red, probably made from tomatoes, purely liquid with nothing inside. It was not steaming and looked easier to eat than the porridge, but Jackie wasn’t taking any chances. He backed up, deeper into the sofa, and shook his head.

Either Heather didn’t see this, or she ignored it outright. In her other hand, there was a spoon. She settled onto the couch and positioned the bowl near him.

“Open your mouth,” she ordered.

He shook his head again. He wondered if it was possible to dissolve into the sofa.

Heather had no patience for all this dallying about. She grabbed his jaw, almost hard enough to bruise. “Open. It.”

He didn’t have such a strong will. Not anymore. He opened his mouth.

She let go, then took a spoonful of soup and placed it in there. “Close it.”

He did as she instructed.

“Don’t just sit there. Have you forgotten how to eat? Swallow!”

Quickly, he swallowed the soup. It went down okay, though he still didn’t want to have a meal. Yes, it was tomato. There was a slight aftertaste of basil. Below that, the metal taste of the spoon. The temperature was a comfortable lukewarm, not cold enough to be disgusting but not hot enough to burn. 

There was a slightly amused look on Heather’s face. Still mostly irritated, though. “Don’t bite down on the spoon. I need it back, you know.”

He opened his mouth again. This was a very degrading experience, even in his exhaustion, but at least she wasn’t hitting him. At least he wasn’t alone… oh, what he’d do for a little bit of company. He wanted her to keep talking. Just to hear another voice.

“Good.” She gave him another spoonful. He swallowed. Another spoonful. He swallowed that, too. This went on for a few minutes. Eventually, all that was left in the bowl was a thin layer of splatter-red, just the scarlet dregs. 

She set the spoon into the bowl, and the bowl onto the coffee table. Jackie never wanted to eat again. He felt awful. Even though the bowl was small, he was way too full. The taste of tomato lingered like radiation, thick and unwelcome. He wiped his mouth against his sleeve. 

“There you go. Don’t you feel better now?”

He nodded.

She regarded him distantly. They had not simply sat together and talked in so long. He missed her, truly and utterly, even if he only missed the kind side of her. But when she was kind, she wasn't hard to like, somehow able to hold his stuttering heart still. That’s what he thought, at least. That’s what he remembered. Was the basement ever so cheerful, or just better in comparison? His memories were a blur.

“Do you still love me?” she asked abruptly.

“Yes.”

“We barely even know each other. You’re just saying that to please me.” Her expression went dark, like a passing shadow. “It’s working. Say it again.”

“I love you, Heather.”

She smiled, a little sadly. “With that look on your face, I almost believe you.”

Maybe she was right, and he didn't really mean it. Attempting to label organic things was never simple, no matter what the biologists said. He would have told her anything if it could get him out of that basement. Of course. That damned basement, that dreaded room, that blasted concrete four-walled hell. Dante would choke if he ever saw it.

He had imagined, many times over, meeting Heather again. It was a good distraction. In the beginning, he wanted to tear into her throat and finish what he’d started, but as his isolation went on, his fantasies mostly consisted of begging for her forgiveness. And there was nothing more compelling than a confession. He would have done anything to leave. Shameful, to give in so easily, but shame was not an unfamiliar sensation. Better to wallow in shame than in agony.

For a moment, Heather tried to say something—but she gave up, and brushed the bangs out of his face instead. He breathed in, breathed out. The tightness in his chest was heavy enough to ache. She was wrong about one thing. He knew her very well. And she knew him. To touch someone’s beating pulse, to nearly kill them—could most lovers say the same? There was nothing as vital as the lungs. There was nothing deeper or more sacred than the heart.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

@lthrboy

@whumpy-wyrms

@yassifiedinformation

@creppersfunpalooza

[mj-iza-writer]

Hi. I’m not sure if you do requests right now, but if you do I LOVE that infantilized whump story. Could you maybe do a whumpee like interacting with a caretaker? Thank you so much. I love your writing ❤️❤️

Hello, I am so sorry it took me so long to get to your request. I absolutely take request and love doing these.

I will be honest though. For some reason I struggled on this one. I had one story, and I didn't feel like it was completing the request accurately. So I wrote a second story, and it felt like I was forcing words out. I didn't feel like it was good quality.

I do hope you enjoy this story though. I appreciate your request and patience so much. -MJ

Caretaker winced as Whumpee was dropped at their feet.

Tears streaked Whumpee's face as they glanced up at Caretaker. A pained expression then crossed their face.

"They're your problem now... I had my fun", Whumper turned for the stairs, "I'm glad I did this to them. Having them be a mindless infant is so satisfying."

Caretaker was still getting used to this concept. Whumpee, who was originally well minded, had been reduced to acting like a baby. The person they had become close to only weeks before.... what had Whumper done to them?

Caretaker knelt down and looked over Whumpee.

Whumpee whimpered as gentle hands caressed their face.

"This may hurt a little", Caretaker sighed.

Whumper had placed several layers of tape over Whumpee's mouth. This was to keep a pacifier in place and to muffle any crying they did. Though they had the mind of an infant, they could still scream pretty loudly.

Whumpee whimpered as every layer was removed.

"Last one Whumpee", Caretaker carefully peeled it up and, as gently as possible, removed it.

Whumpee let a few tears fall as they stared at Caretaker. Fearful doe eyes blinked slowly at them.

"I'm sorry Whumpee. I-I don't know what I can do for you. I don't even know what they did to you", Caretaker caressed their face again.

Whumpee melted into the touch.

"I guess all I can offer is a gentle hand, though I fear it's not enough" Caretaker smelt something just then.

Whumpee's lip quivered.

"It's okay Whumpee", Caretaker smiled weakly.

Caretaker helped Whumpee to lay down. They pulled out the infuriating supplies Whumper had left for them: adult diapers and wipes and ointments and creams.

A few days later, Whumpee sat in the corner and watched Caretaker pace.They hugged their knees to their chest, but their eyes followed Caretaker's every move.

Caretaker stopped and looked at them, "are you still in there, Whumpee? I feel like you are scared to come out. In fear of Whumper doing it to you again."

Whumpee looked down, "also, in fear that they'll do it to you", Whumpee whispered hoarsely.

It became a game. Whumpee continued to act like an infant.

Every morning, Whumper came down, stuffed a pacifier into Whumpee's mouth, and dragged them up the stairs. By evening, Whumper dropped Whumpee at Caretaker's feet.

Caretaker would then patch Whumpee up, making baby talk. They'd change Whumpee's diaper several times to make sure everything looked right. Everything staged perfectly.

The better they acted, the more supplies and rewards Whumper left for the both of them. None the wiser that Whumpee was no longer infantilized.

Well, at least until one day when Caretaker and Whumpee were talking a little too loud downstairs.

Whumper came down and glared at them.

Whumpee looked up in horror and tried to switch to baby Whumpee, but it was too late.

"Playing me for a fool", Whumper yelled, "how long has it been?"

Whumpee crawled away backwards in fear.

"Answer me... how long have you been acting?", Whumper stormed toward them.

"I-I don't know", Whumpee whimpered.

"I guess you know what has to happen. I'm going to make this hurt even worse", Whumper towered over them, "it will last longer, I bet."

"No please", Whumpee pleaded as tears fell, "I can't go through that again."

"You're right... how about Caretaker takes it this time", Whumper smirked.

"No.. no please don't.. do that.. to them", Whumpee begged quickly not wanting to put their friend through that pain.

Whumpee made eye contact with Caretaker as they were carried away.

Caretaker felt a pit in their stomach... they felt helpless.

A quick glance around the room.

"I'm getting us out of here", Caretaker promised to themself and Whumpee.

It felt like hours, but finally, Whumpee was dropped at Caretaker's feet.

"I'll be surprised if they break out of that", Whumper watched as Whumpee made quick, terrified glances around the room.

They had the pacifier taped into their mouth again.

Whumper turned right into Caretaker, then began a fight.

In not expecting the attack, Whumper was quickly subdued.

Caretaker got them out.

"So how long has it been since you both got out?", Caretaker's friend smiled from across the table.

"Five months", Caretaker smiled, "I found a phone and called. We escaped, I carried them out my self."

The friend frowned as they looked at Whumpee, "and they haven't made any signs of... you know?"

"Not quite... I've seen some glimpses of the Whumpee that was down their with me. Therapy has helped a lot. I believe Whumpee is terrified of coming out again. They buried themself deep inside after what Whumper did to them... they're scared", Caretaker sighed at Whumpee.

Whumpee sat nearby happily nibbling on a baby chew toy they liked. They paid no mind to Caretaker and their friend.

"Why dont you.. you know... put them in a home or special care. It can't be easy taking care of them", the friend frowned at Whumpee's happy babbles, "don't you want to be truly free from that place?"

"It's not easy, but neither was what Whumper put them through. They took it a second time so I didn't have to know what it felt like. They saved me. I hope one day they can come out of it, but I'm not putting them in a home. That would feel like I'm putting them back with Whumper", Caretaker scowled at their friend, "they deserve freedom as well. I promised them I'd get them out. I plan on keeping that promise."

"Well, you're a good person.. I don't know how you do it. I think after changing them once I'd be done", the friend chuckled lightly, "you're good to them."

Caretaker looked over at Whumpee and saw they were looking back at them.

"Not as good as them", Caretaker smiled at Whumpee, "they kept me safe... gave me the boost I needed to get us out. I only hope to return the favor. I'll keep them safe and give them a safe place to be themself. Even if they're stuck like that for good. I'll be their safe place."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @sunglasses-in-the-bentley

@isikedmyself878

[patchworkorphan]

The Hero and the Infant: Part Three

Read part one here

Continued from here

*~*~*~*~*

Hero threw their arms wide as they strut onto the roof in a gesture of questioning: “hey! What the fuck are ya doing?”

That got Villain’s attention. Violet eyes snapped to theirs, floating a couple metres off the roof. Out of reach for Hero.

“Silent treatment? Really? You just tried to kill a kid, Villain.”

“Superhero’s new sidekick. I did warn them about the mortality rate of such a job before I dropped them,” Villain said with a shrug. Hero looked back over their shoulder at the sound of the roof door opening and Sidekick stepping out, fury winding all of their limbs tight.

“See?” Villain said, getting Hero’s attention again. The Villain’s hand was spread to Sidekick’s appearance. “They’re fine!”

Hero rolled their eyes, scoffing. “Is that supposed to be a justification for attempted murder?”

Hero felt the strong invisible hand wrap around them and yank them up into the air straight into Villain’s awaiting arms.

“Maybe I just don’t like the company they keep,” said Villain, grabbing Hero by the lapels of their duster and pulling them close.

Villain’s nose crinkled up as they said: “you smell like whiskey and cigarettes.”

“It was never a problem before. In fact, I think I remember you enjoying the smell at one point,” said Hero with their dashing smile reserved for only Villain.

“Why are you running around with Superhero’s new scapegoat?”

“Why are you disturbing these good people just trying to do their jobs?” Hero shot back.

“I am a Villain, my dear. It is what we do.”

“And I am a hero, at your every public beck and call. To make sure you don’t do irrevocable damage. Such as killing a child,” Hero admonished and yelped as they felt Villain’s power vanish from under them and they were falling.

Villain held them with one hand over the precipice in their usual showmanship of power. Hero narrowed their eyes and shifted their weight, so they were almost a perfect 45-degree angle to the ground thirteen stories below.

A challenge coated their words as they spread their arms wide, “if you want to kill anyone Villain, do us both a favour and kill me.”

Villain searched Hero’s face for any weakness. Any sign that they were lying and found none. The next thing Hero knows wind is whistling through their ears, stopping only when their back cracks off brickwork and they crumbled to the ground hands catching themselves on the ground, gasping for the air that was wrenched from their lungs.

“Hero!” Sidekick yelled in surprise from the opposite roof.

Hero barely had time to force themselves to stand again before Villain was in front of them, fist bunching in the collar of their shirt. Villain threw a solid left hook. Hero countered, taking the brunt on their forearm before an invisible hand grabbed Hero’s wrist yanking it above their head and keeping it there. Hero’s toes barely scraping the roof below them.

“No fair,” said Hero with a grunt, levelling Villain with a knowing scorn.

Villain’s smile was more of a snarl as they said: “when have I ever played fair?”

Hero threw their other hand out, but Villain caught it and slammed it back against the brick wall, drawing another grunt from Hero. Villain stepped in close, close enough that Hero felt Villain’s breath on their face as those violet eyes peered down at Hero, tightening their grip on Hero’s wrist.

“You look good, Vil,” said Hero softly. “What happened that made you rage against these innocent people today, hmm?”

Villain’s free hand settled on Hero’s cheek and Hero leaned into the touch. “I don’t need a reason.”

“We both know you’re not like that,” Hero said, smiling sadly.

Suddenly Hero was released, and they dropped to their feet, knees bent. Villain was recoiling to the side, hand on their cheek as a once invisible Sidekick became visible again.

“You alright?” Sidekick asked as Hero straightened and nodded.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You looked like you needed help,” Sidekick said, a little breathless and Hero searched the opposite roof wondering how Sidekick had got there so fast but didn’t question it. They could ask later.

Hero fixed their jacket, rolling their neck as Villain’s gaze turned to face the pair. “I had it handled.”

“Sure, you did,” and Sidekick was invisible again. Villain’s eyes burned like the cold fires of hell down at Hero and Hero shrugged with a smirk.

“Kid’s annoying,” said Hero. “But sure, what can you do?”

“Drop them off a building again. Maybe it will work this time.”

“Probably not,” Hero said with a flash of their teeth. “Not as long as I’m here.”

“Well then perhaps I will force you to watch,” said Villain as they shot their hand out. Hero sucked in a breath and felt the pop in their ears as they reappeared behind Villain. They whistled and Villain turned. Hero threw a punch which Villain caught, clenching their hand down around Hero’s fist and stepping forward, pushing Hero back. “You always did think I relied too much on my power.”

“Eh,” Hero shrugged with tired eyes. “It’s an off day.”

Villain’s eyes narrowed, their tone dipping dangerous as they turned Hero’s arm. “Maybe you should have answered my texts then and we could have arranged this on a non-drinking day for you.”

“Come on, Vil. You know me better,” Hero said with a toothy grin. “They are no non-drinking days.”

Villain pulled Hero in and brought a sharp knee to Hero’s stomach. Hero gasped, as Villain leaned in. “We’ll sober you up yet. Just like our academy days, huh Hero?”

The comment had barely registered when Villain squeezed Hero’s fist with their hand, their force backed by Villain’s unfair power.

“No wait, Villain—” Hero protested just before there was a resounding crack over the roof. Hero screamed bloody murder as Villain kicked them back, and unable to catch themselves, Hero stumbled back and fell, their head hitting off the stone roof. White spots burst behind their vision as Hero shuffled back on their good arm. “Motherfucker!”

Hero looked down at their hand, their index and middle finger bent backwards. A deep purple and black colouring the battered flesh. They had to get off the ground. Hero sucked in a sharp breath closing their eyes. Then a boot came to their chin and Hero cursed as their world rocked and their head hit the ground again.

A headache was already forming, and Hero just wanted to lie on the ground and give up then and there. Then he thought of Sidekick who would no doubt lecture them which would only make their headache worse. A rock and a hard place, headache, or worse headache. Before they could decide, Villain stomped on Hero’s ribs, and Hero’s eyes shot open. Their good hand pushing at Villain’s ankle to alleviate the pressure.

“No popping out if your brain’s clouded with pain, ain’t that right Hero?”

“Normal people just say: I missed you,” Hero hissed, they let out a harsh cough. “They don’t try and kill you.”

“What can I say? I’m not normal people,” said Villain with a smile of their own. Then their hand shot out on instinct and Sidekick reappeared two feet away, gasping on no air. Their hands went to their throat with wide eyes. Hero sat up suddenly, but Villain just put more pressure on their leg keeping Hero pinned. “No. No. Don’t get up. Stay.”

“Let them go, Villain!” Hero cried. Sidekick dropped to their knees, face going purple as they choked on nothing, hands clawing desperately at their throat.

Villain tilted their head at Sidekick’s struggles. Hero reached their hand into their pocket, taking out their lighter. “It’s not every day I don’t kill someone first try. The last, and not to blow my own trumpet, but only time that happened Sidekick was with…” Villain turned back to Hero. “Well, was you, dearest.”

Hero shot their hand out, setting fire to Villain’s trouser leg that was currently weighing on Hero’s ribs. Villain gasped, concentration broken, stepping back and Sidekick sucked in a lungful of air. Hero looked at Villain.

“I’ll be back,” they said to Villain as they lunged for Sidekick’s arm, hand clamping around their wrist. Hero closed their eyes, sucking in a breath.

Then pop.

*~*~*~*~*

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Go To Sleep Little Baby

Summary: Written for AI-less Whumptober 2023 Day 26. Set in a Modern Magic AU. Hiccup’s uncontrollable magic has been with him since birth. As a baby, his parents were at a loss.

Warning: /

Rating: General

Characters: Hiccup, Stoick, Valka, Gothi

Pairing: Stalka

Words: 2 275

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: Magical exhaustion or injury, Curse

Whumpee: Hiccup, Stoick, Valka

Author’s Notes: Went through a lot of ideas for Day 26, which all had to do with the same AU, but I eventually ended up settling on this one. Can't wait to finally share the main fic soon. :)

Also this fic originally ended at a little over 1,7k words. Now it's a little over 2,2k, lol.

Enjoy!

@ailesswhumptober

XOXOX

Ever since the day he was born, Hiccup has been a difficult child. At 3 months old, all the boy has done is cry. Cry, cry, cry and hysterically so. Even with his belly full, his diaper clean, and after a nap, the screams would still erupt from his tiny lungs and his tears would fall. He’s not well.

Stoick and Valka took him to every doctor they could find with the same list of symptoms. He barely eats, he's almost constantly running a fever, and he's always crying. But no matter where they go, whether the clinic is on Berk or on the mainland, every visit ends with the same conclusion.

"He is as healthy as they come."

His ears are fine, his throat is fine, his belly isn’t tender, … Beyond a fever, there’s nothing physically wrong with him. Yet as fresh parents worrying about their first and stumbling through parenthood, it's a slap in the face each and every time.

Valka stomps to the car in a huff, Hiccup held securely to her bosom. It's one of the very few places where he might be persuaded not to cry. Even now he still sniffles, his lip trembling, and seeking solace in his mother’s embrace.

“Valka, wait!” Stoick hurries after her. His wife stormed out of the seventh or eighth doctor’s office with their son, she wouldn't even wait for him as she left.

She stops in the middle of the street to face him, a storm rages in her eyes. Stoick takes her arm and gently pulls her towards the parked car. He can see the tears she's struggling to blink away.

"I have to put him in the car seat, Stoick," she tells him, deciding against talking about the disappointing doctor's appointment. He knows why she tells him this. She's hesitating because the second she puts him down…

Stoick's gaze brings him to his son. Hiccup sleeps now, dressed in a baby blue onesie and tiny winter coat. It's been a cold and wet spring so far. Though it’s May, the warmer days still seem far away.

“Why can’t any of them help us, Stoick?” Facing the dread of putting their son down, Valka asks. “This doctor didn’t even want to look at our boy!”

The reminder makes Stoick clench his fists. It’s true. They had to beg for an appointment when they tried to deny them, simply stating “Babies cry!” And then, after they finally got one, the doctor barely examined Hiccup before declaring him perfectly healthy and sending them on their way. “First time parents, right?”

Valka wipes the tears from her eyes. They’re both exhausted after three months of literal hell. Hiccup isn’t the only one kept from his sleep by his crying. Not that a good night’s sleep would be a cure for just how draining listening to a constantly crying child can be. An infant can’t be reasoned with either. There’s a reason why he’s like this.

And now she’s stalling for time, not wanting to put Hiccup down. Because if they did…

He would simply erupt.

It’s like the world is just too much for the boy.

Stoick places a strong hand on his wife’s shoulder and she gazes up at him.

“Gothi.”

She blinks in confusion.

“What if our problem isn’t physical at all, lass?” He asks. “What if it’s magical?”

Valk stares down at Hiccup, flashes of his birth run to the forefront of her mind.

Her pregnancy had been strange. Not unexpected with two parents in possession of mystical abilities, though one underdeveloped. But even so, it was strange. She got,visions, remarkable dreams, her powers surged… And still, his birthday stands out like a sore thumb.

With every contraction, glass from windows and screens broke. She screamed, the lights overhead would flicker. She pushed, equipment would spark. It was like a scene out of a horror movie as the room descended into chaos. At least two nurses suddenly became unwell and the doctor came close to passing out. There was a power outage on the entire floor.

And then Hiccup arrived after nine long months. He cried and hasn’t stopped since. The only way to make him stop is if his parents cradle him. His parents and no one else. The nurses came to call him “devil spawn” when they thought his parents weren’t listening.

“Maybe you’re right,” Valka agrees. Maybe they never should’ve left Berk in the first place.

-XOXOX-

Elder Gothi was the oldest woman on Berk at the young age of 500 years old.

Or that is what they think her age is. She could be much older than that, she never gives a specific number when asked.

She is a witch, the wisest their tribe has ever seen. She is capable of a great many things, impossible things. So perhaps, she’s the best person to help these troubled parents with their bundle of joy.

Hiccup is once again a hysterical wreck. Lying on Gothi’s table in just his diaper now. He uses every ounce of his little lungs to scream. His face is a deep red and a mess of tears and snot. His fists and toes are clenched and his limbs still as if tensed stiff.

Almost unbothered, Gothi examines him while his parents cower, even Stoick. There’s a deep grimace on his face. The elder witch checks his eyes, his tongue, his liver, but it aren’t physical symptoms that she’s searching for. She’s not looking for the same things that a pediatrician would be looking for.

As her final step, she grabs his tiny fist and makes him uncurl his fingers, reading his tiny palm. Her eyes widen and she gasps.

Stoick and Valka both straighten, worry etched on their faces as she backs away from Hiccup.

Quickly retreating, she hurries to one side of her hut. The entire place is decorated in things of mystical origins. Amulets are pinned to a beam, chicken feet and other animal feet hang from the ceiling in bundles, rocks with certain properties hide in every corner, … anything the mind can think of, Gothi has. But she passes it all to go to the very back. Shoving things aside with her staff, she reaches a cabinet that hasn’t seen a decent dusting since the 1800s at least.

She’s mute, but her lips still utter a spell and the cabinet’s doors unlock audibly. Peeking inside, a web stretches along with the door she swings open. Gothi wipes it away with her bare hand before reaching inside and grabbing a small and black clay pot.

Her visitors can’t see it, her back faces them, but a thoughtful expression crosses her features. She wonders if she really has need for what’s inside. She hasn’t needed ithis in literal centuries for it only works on a select few people.

It’s worth a shot.

Opening the pot, she finds scales as black as the night within. She takes a few, concealing them in her hand and returns the pot to its original resting place. Never to be disturbed again.

With no clue as to what the old woman is doing, the desperate Stoick and Valka watch as she runs from one place to the next, surprisingly fast in her old age. She crushes something with a mortar and pestle, then runs to the other side of her hut to grab something else and crush that as well. She grabs several ingredients and the parents can’t keep up. It’s almost like Hiccup’s crying is a physical barrier, they can’t pay attention.

Finally, Gothi returns, hands clasped together and some of her concoction held within. She blows into her hands, the dust-like material falls gently above the crying child like a cloud of dust, fluttering down without a care in the world. Hiccup sneezes twice, his crying reaches a higher volume.

“Gothi…” Stoick speaks her name, fingers rubbing his temple.

Gothi reaches into the mortar again and with blackened fingers returns a second time to draw a rune on Hiccup’s forehead.

“Gothi?” Valka’s brows frown. Despite their age, she recognizes these mystical runes quickly as the witch places a second on his heart, a third on the back of his left hand, a fourth on his right.

“Stoick, she’s stunting him!”

“What?!” Stoick rises to his feet.

“She’s stunting his magic!”

Gothi finishes with a fifth rune on his belly. They all say “protect” and “contain.”

“Gothi, what’s the meaning of this?” Stoick is immediately perturbed. They came here to help their son, not hurt him!

With the slightest bit of magic touching his skin, something inside of the three month old lashes out. An orange glow like fire erupts from his underweight frame. His parents have to step back, taken off guard by the heat filling this tiny space. Gothi tries to draw the same runes around the boy on the table, drawing a perfect circle, but she’s thrown back and hits a chair behind her.

Stoick tries to come to her rescue, but finds himself frozen in place. There’s an impossible weight filling this room, choking them. It’s like several spells are used all at once. A buzzing drums in their ears, it almost overshadows Hiccup’s crying.

Gothi manages to finish the circle of runes. Glass shatters explosively, destroying her windows, breaking jars, things fly off the shelf as if thrown, the hearth is set ablaze.

The elder witch begins a wordless incantation. The buzzing grows louder, the heat hotter, her posessions levitate. She, Stoick, and Valka’s feet are lifted off the ground.

And suddenly all is quiet.

The ashy runes sear into the babe’s flesh without a single howl of pain and leaving not a trace. Everything floating in the air falls to the ground, the glow disappears, that suffocating weight is lifted. The three drop to the floor.

And Hiccup’s crying has stopped. Relaxing, curling up, and suckling on his fist, he’s suddenly sound asleep.

Valka and Stoick rise to their feet, staring in utter shock at the power displayed by their son. This was ten times worse than his birth at the hospital. They’re both shaken to their core.

Gothi hobbles to find her staff and then throws a thick layer of sand over the ground to begin her explanation.

Stoick can’t read it, but his partner can.

A hand to her beating drum of a heart, she soaks up every word.

“His own magic was hurting him?!” Valka repeats in shock and her husband shares that sentiment. Gothi nods before continuing.

She tells them how out of control his abilities are, how his little baby self had no idea what to do with them, that every second he wanted his magic to leave him alone and to stop hurting him. As a result, all he could do was cry. Cry and cry and cry and cry.

His parents were his sole comfort in his personal little hell.

“You stunted him…” Valka repeats, giving the elder witch a look. Gothi nods, it was for the boy’s own good. He may be okay now, but his abilties would’ve torn his little body apart before long. He wouldn’t have made it to his first birthday if they hadn’t come to her.

Telling his parents this makes the two grow cold inside.

“Gothi, what did we just see?” Stoick finally asks, uncertain how to describe what just happened inside her hut.

“A temper tantrum,” she starts. But rather, his powers were throwing one. Hiccup sensed the slightest bit of ‘hostile’ magic touch his skin and instinct bound to his abilities sought to protect him from it. By any means necessary.

“What now, Gothi?” Valka asks.

“Raise him like any boy on Berk would be raised. His magic is still there, simply mostly repressed. But watch out, this containment spell will erode over time. The older he gets, the weaker the spell becomes.”

With no more words to share, Valka picks the sleeping Hiccup up from Gothi’s table. The two thank her, Stoick makes sure she knows of his gratitude. As far as he’s concerned, the three of them are indebted to her.

They leave and Gothi retreats to the darkest corners of her hut, diving into her many books. She didn’t want Hiccup’s parents to know, but she’s left with questions herself.

Without a doubt, Valka is talented and Stoick contains a might that is sorely neglected. The man doesn’t know a single spell. But two powerful parents don’t mean a powerful child and certainly not one of this caliber.

The elder witch finds herself filling with concern. In her long life, she’s had the displeasure of knowing magic users of extraordinary strength and sometimes that kind of might is a curse. It certainly is for Hiccup, whose powers needed to be repressed, lest they slowly tear him apart cell by cell over the course of months. There is not a shadow of a doubt in her mind, he was in terrible pain.

She settles with a single book. It’s ancient, it practically falls apart in her hands. She skims through the pages to find the right one and dread settles in her old bones.

She feels sorry for the 3 month old. His life won’t be an easy one. Great and terrible things lie in his future.

For now, he and his parents are blissfully ignorant of it all.

Stoick and Valka bring a different child home that night. They put him to bed, he hasn’t stirred once on the way home. Both crash onto their bed, exhausted beyond believe and falling asleep in each other’s arms.

The next morning a happy child greets them.

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck [Masterlist] 💉🃏🔪

"How do you- I swear, I don't know you, just let me go and I'll never bother you again. Please, I just-"

Quickly, the sharp blade placed itself down against his lips, and with a short exhale, his desperate blabbering stopped in an instant. It didn't cut, just passed on its silent threat. The cold steel turned to lay flat now, Elliot wasn't sure he was even allowed to breathe anymore.

"Don't. Worry. About. It." The man said, talking him down like a moody infant, but his anger only thinly veiled. "When I get what I want, a thing you can't help with in the slightest, I'll let you go."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

CW PART 1-10: kidnapping, captivity, non-con drugging, held for ransom, torture, abuse, toxic relationships

CW PART 11 onwards : Lima syndrome, obsessive Whumper, recapture, drug abuse, disabled Whumpee

This series was created during Febuwhump 2023, the first nine parts are following the prompts → [Febuwhump 2023 Masterlist]

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6

PART 7

PART 8

PART 9

PART 10

Intermezzo:

Siege

Greetings from Maui

Here and back again

Fair-weather company

Wellness check

PART 11

Haven

PART 12

PART 13

PART 14

Tremors

PART 15

PART 16

Étude (short drabbles)

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Picrew [1] [2] [3]:

Elliot Ribera

Christoph Morris

Amber

Morris' apartment

Dutch

Everyone

Size comparison

Asks:

Fun facts

Morris´ plans for the future

Female!Elliot?

Morris and consent

Faceclaims

A normal meet-up

Ask game 1 2 3

Truth serum 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

[jellybile]

LULLABY

cw: captivity- slight Stockholm syndrome ??

creepy whumper who gave whumpee their kid to take care of.

when whumpee was first taken they were tortured and tortured till they thought they will never make it out, that was until one day whumper dragged them out of their cell, forced them to bathe and brush their hair and gave them an infant to take care of.

whumpee had no idea how to take care of this less than a month old baby. whumper gave them some generic books about raising a child and left them on their own.

whumpee tried their hardest at first they were only upstairs to take care of the baby while the sun was out, at night whumper locked them back in their cell.

as time went on and the baby grew and their needs grew with them whumpee was allowed to be upstairs now,even though the thick metal collar stays on, they make grocery lists for the house and the baby even though they barely get to eat any of it.

they wake up early feed the baby and play with it, talk to it and hold it. make dinner for when whumper gets home, they clean and dust and do everything that whumpee asked of them.

punishments became longer but less severe, not any injuries that can stop them from caring for the baby, no broken legs and no broken arms, their ribs are intact, their face was kept fairly clean as to not scare the child.

they were so broken and mentally fragile that as soon as they got this positive little thing in their life they got extremely attached to it, their whole life revolved around this tiny little thing.

the infant grew to a toddler and whumpee got into the habit of singing to it when whumper wasn't home, the toddler soon grew and started singing to whumpee the same songs.

they had a deep connection almost like the baby was their own, they never asked whumper if it was theirs, they just took care of this small seed of joy that has been planted in their life.

when whumpee was rescued they couldnt take it.

they were downstairs getting something from the basement and they heard the crashes and yelling and a familiar voice ....

caretaker.

they remember the name and the voice but the image that popped up in their head was blurry, they had no emotional connection to this person, maybe they did at some point, but right now the only love they have is for the baby.

but even that was ripped away from them as the rescue team came down stairs and kept talking about 'saving whumpee' and how the 'monster' cant get them but their brain didnt register any of that.

as soon as they were upstairs they thrashed and screamed to reach the bedroom

"the baby is in there please let me take them!!"

they missed how the rescue team looked at each other and the thick tense air covering the place, they let whumpee go and they tripped over their own feet running for the crib next to the bed, but the baby was no where to be seen, the window was open and the curtains danced to the summer breeze.

whumper escaped with the baby, their baby.

/END

• this is part one i guess ???? idk im thinking of making a second one of the baby all grown up 🥹

[whumping-times]

Hi!

This is a blog I made so I can talk about Whumps and Whumping because I don’t have the money for therapy. Here’s my info :3

Name: Moss/Times

Pronouns: They/Them

This blog will include things that you may find triggering. I’ll try my best to place triggers on my own posts, but I recommend you be careful.

I’m into anything when it comes to Whumping, but I always love a snarky Whumpee and then breaking them >:3

You’re more than welcome to use my prompts! Just please tag me if you do, I’d love to read your stuff !!!

DNI if you’re a bigot (transphobic, homophobic, sexist, racist, ableist, etc.) or a pro-shipper.

This blog is SFW.

Please do not send me anything about the following things: R*pe/Non-con, SH/Su*ide, whumps against/including a pregnant character, any whumps against/including children, infant/child death, infertility, miscarriage, abortion, etc. Your message will be deleted and you may be blocked.

Here’s some quick definitions!

Whump: Making a character hurt, sick or vulnerable in a story. They may be comforted or helped (or not). The means what they’re hurt by can vary from a cold to torture.

Whumpee: The character that is hurt, sick or vulnerable.

Whumper: The character causing the hurt, sickness or vulnerability (if there is one).

Caregiver: The character caring for the Whumpee or trying to help them.

Whump is different than hurt/comfort as hurt/comfort focusing on the care and healing, whereas Whump is mainly just pain and suffering.