#merry whump of may

[shywhumpauthor]

The Merry Whump of May—Day 20

“A taste of your own medicine”

Zip Ties || Bleeding Out || Office

Part one || Masterlist

Cw: past torture, blood loss, mentioned murders, dubcon touching(?), I guess kind of kidnapping by definition

“Stay with me, just a bit longer,” Supervillain murmured, their gloved palm pressing to the side of Hero’s head, guiding them to lean against their shoulder. The cape wrapped snug around Hero’s shoulders, covering them like a blanket, growing stains of something even darker seeping across the black fabric.

Even with the warm blood dripping across their skin, Hero shivered, prompting the arms around them to pull them a little closer.

Supervillain’s pace was fast as they moved towards the mouth of the alley, their boots nearly silent despite the gravel. No wonder Hero hadn’t heard them arrive. They weren’t even nearly silent, no, they were soundless. Everything about them was quiet. Even with their mouth inches from Hero’s ear, they couldn’t hear their breaths. The soft murmurs of reassurance nothing more than sounds carried across the breeze.

It was eerie, but strangely… reassuring. Their ear to Supervillain’s chest, they could feel the rise and fall, even though they could not hear them breathe, feel their heart though they couldn’t hear it beat. Quiet, but not the kind that drew terror—soft, gentle, the kind of quiet that promised safety.

“Close your eyes, Hero,” Supervillain whispered, tucking their chin over the Hero’s head.

Everything went quiet. The entire city, fallen to oblivion, there was nothing. Not the scurry of rats behind dumpsters, the hum of the streetlights, the sounds of cars speeding through the streets, reduced to nothing. A silence so deafening it left Hero’s ears ringing, roaring with the blood that pulsed through them. Supervillain held them tight, the palm that held to Hero’s head pressing over their ear as a rush of cold surrounded them both.

It was like falling through ice, into a pitch black ocean, the world around them bursting to darkness. The cold was worse than anything they had ever felt. It wasn’t just a surface level chill, no, this one burrowed deep into their bones, stole the air from their lungs, numbed them to the core.

Just as quickly as it had come along, the darkness cracking open, small fissures quickly shattering apart, allowing a soft light to spill in. Hero’s stomach lurched, and they would have vomited again if they hadn’t already thrown up all that was in them.

“I’m sorry, Hero, that was the quickest way,” Supervillain apologized, feeling the way Hero tensed and shuddered. They wove their fingers in the other’s hair, cradling the side of their head with a gentleness much too tender to be coming from any villain, much less the supervillain.

Hero had never even seen Supervillain before. At least, not in person. Glimpses from some mediocre cameraman had managed to film as Supervillain darted through public, faster than the camera’s shutters could open. They were the city’s most notorious villain, yet few had even seen them—even fewer left alive to recount the events. Bodies, mauled beyond recognition, burned and brutalized in any way imaginable.

What were they going to do with Hero?

Supervillain had stopped walking, stopping down slightly to set Hero on something soft. With much effort, Hero blinked, willing their vision to clear enough to make out the scene around them.

They were in a living room. At least, they thought it was. A buttercream colored couch and armchair set sat positioned around a large coffee table, the couch nearly twice the size of Hero’s back at their apartment. Facing the couch was a large fireplace, stone leading up to a mantle where a flatscreen lay fixed to the wall. The room was lit softly by warm lamplight, a few plants and personal touches, such as throw pillows and blankets spread around just perfect enough to keep the neat image, while adding just a touch of personality to make it comfortable. Still, the high slanted ceilings, the chandelier hanging down, the huge floor-to-ceiling windows framing an entire wall, made it feel more like a set to some extravagant film, not a place where actual people lived.

Supervillain set Hero down on the couch, brushing their hair back from their eyes with a quick promise to be right back, before the air shattered right in front of their eyes. When the tear had mended, Supervillain was gone.

No one knew anything about their powers, not really. No one knew their limits, their specialties. To the public, Supervillain was more a concept than a beings fear not unlike a demon or devil. Blood rushed to Hero’s head, the room spinning around them as they tried to comprehend, but it wouldn’t make sense.

Supervillain reappeared not half a moment later, a white case nearly the size of Hero’s chest in their hands, already flipped open. Hero shuddered, a sudden unease prickling up their spine as Supervillain turned and set the case on the coffee table, digging out gauze squares and a transparent bottle filled with some clear liquid. With a careful touch, Supervillain pulled the cape away from Hero, revealing the wounds decorating their chest.

There was a lot of blood. More blood than any normal person could afford to lose. Supervillain’s jaw tightened, and they twisted off the cap.

“This is going to sting a bit, darling, alright?” Supervillain tried to warn gently, but it was as if Hero’s eyes were looking clear through them.

The villain held back a sigh, setting the bottle aside for a moment as they noticed the goosebumps along Hero’s arms. They held up their hand, and gave a quick snap, and the hearth roared to life behind them, crackling flames devouring the logs.

“Close your eyes, Hero. I’ll take care of you. Go to sleep.”

————————————————

@bees-andbees (thought you’d like to be tagged :D )

@themerrywhumpofmay

[russet-writing]

03 Lost

“See what happens” | Screwdriver | Club

Content: Profanity, Drinking (in a club/bar setting), Some violence, Threats, Whumpee kind of having a position of power, Whumper not respecting that at all lol

“They’re startin’ their shit again, Whumpee.”

The Scotch he had been drinking got caught, choking him for all of two seconds before he managed to swallow it down. Out of the corner of Whumpee’s eye, he could see his bartender. She was hovering next to him, looking a whole lot more uneasy than usual, just mindlessly twisting a rag into a martini glass– Nervous energy. His eyes flicked to hers for a brief second and he knew exactly what was wrong just by the look on her face. They came back. Of course they would come back. No measly little warning could keep the Harpoons out of his hair…

“What do you mean they’re starting their… I– Didn’t I tell you that next time they come in you were supposed to fucking–” He cuts himself off and pinches the bridge of his nose, nostrils flaring. Reel it in, Whumpee. A deep breath.

“Didn’t I tell you,” A low murmur this time, “that the next time they tried to come in, you were supposed to turn them away?” When he opens his eyes again, he allows them to drift past the bartender, over to the bar and the crowd that had accumulated there. Sure enough, in the sea of faces and emblazoned leather jackets, his gaze catches on one staring right back at him: Whumper. Whumper, with those same fiery eyes and that same shit eating grin that widened as he lifted a mocking glass to him and downed it. Last time the bastard was here, he had broken about six of those glasses, the shards of which had ended up half-lodged in some poor drunk asshole’s scalp. Whumpee’s eye twitches.

“You don’t think I tried that?” The Bartender hisses with exasperation, following his gaze to the leader of the gang who… was now waving her over for yet another drink. Pompous prick. She bristles and whips her head to look at Whumpee, all tucked up frozen in his armchair. She turns back to Whumper. Back to him. And then, finally, she makes up her mind. With what has to be the most gall he had ever seen her display, she slams the martini down hard enough to nearly crack it and steps towards him, brandishing the damp rag.

“You are the owner of this club, you hear me? Be a man, get off your ass, and go get those psychos off my bar!” The last two words had spit flying at his face. A beat passed as he stared up at her. The bartender’s eyes slowly widened, coming to the realization she had just shouted at her boss, regretting it, and hoping to God it wouldn’t get her fired… but then, Whumpee lowered his gaze and slowly rose to his feet. His jaw was clenched, determination knitted between his brows.

Wordlessly, he makes his way over to the bar.

“Hey, pal…” Whumper called out in that sing-songy voice (the kind that makes you want to beat the everloving daylights out of him.) Whumpee knew he had probably heard that whole interaction judging by the knowing look in his eyes and his lax, confident posture. Whumpee didn’t care, not anymore. He was tired of this. “Long time no see. Starting to think you’ve been holding out on m–”

“You need to leave.”

It came out a lot hoarser than he would have liked, but they seemed to hear him just fine. For a small moment, it felt like the air shifted. The idle chatter around them seemed to falter before, ever so slowly, every head turned to the two of them. Whumpee swallowed, gaze flickering briefly over the watching eyes. Whumper never looked away. Whumpee takes a deep breath and meets Whumper’s gaze head on. 

“You need to leave.” It came out firmer that time. More like how the club owner should sound. But all that determination and feigned confidence simply crumbled the moment Whumper rose from his seat, movements fluid and agile like something ascending, something not human– it was nothing like the sweating and scarred men around him. No, Whumper was something entirely different. Something otherworldly. All that previous arrogance was gone, replaced now with something… terrifying. Whumpee almost misses the arrogance. When he rose to his full height, he only had about two inches on Whumpee, but God it felt like he was towering over him. Whumpee barely managed not to cringe backwards when the man leaned in and whispered,

“Or… what?”

A small part of him wanted to give in and say ‘Or nothing! Hah, what a funny prank– I definitely got you. Drinks are on the house tonight, fellas!’ but he could still feel his bartender’s eyes on him… Damn it, he had a reputation to look after. He wasn’t going to let some rag tag nobodies tell him how to run his club.

“Or I’ll have you arrested, Whumper.” He shoots back. “I’ve asked you not to come back here and I’m allowed by law to refuse you service.” 

He takes a small, menacing step forward. “Go ahead, call them, Whumpee. See what happens.”

Whumpee can’t help but flinch slightly at that, but he steels his resolve and shoves a hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Fine then, fuck you, I will! Then maybe finally they’ll get you off the streets, you absolute mutt–”

There was a sudden flash of movement that Whumpee’s mind didn’t quite catch up to in time. He dropped his phone. Then, the pain hit him all at once, hot and searing like a knife all along the bridge of his nose. He cries out and cups his hands over it, feeling the warm slick of blood streaming between them and down into his sleeves. Fuck! Shit, did he just punch my fucking– He jerks backwards as he notices Whumpers vague outline reaching towards him through the water in his eyes. He stumbles dizzily against the counter, rolling over slightly until he’s practically bent over it. 

Whumpee doesn’t really know why he started reaching for something. Maybe some small part of his mind knew if he didn’t defend himself there was a real good chance the man would just kill him right here, right now, in his own club. Either way, he starts grappling blindly on the other side of the counter.

Just as he feels Whumper’s hand fist into his hair, rearing his head backwards, Whumpee’s hand locks around a handle, smooth and rubbery against his sweaty palm. He somehow manages to twist his body around in time before the other man can slam his face into the countertop, ignoring the burning sensation in his scalp. Better than having his nose broken anymore; He can still feel the blood running down his face… and neck. He blinks tears from his eyes and with a final burst of energy, he thrusts whatever was in his hand out blindly. It doesn’t make contact. Instead, he feels Whumper’s other hand lock around his wrist. A screwdriver. It was just a fucking screwdriver. Before he can even try to squirm out of the grip, he’s already being thrown backwards once more until he’s arched over the countertop, feeling it bruising into the small of his back.

“Wait!” He gasps out, scrambling frantically as Whumper wrenches the handle from his grip. “Wait– I’m sorry! I–”

The other man simply slammed his head against the counter one, two, three times until he started seeing stars and couldn’t get in enough air to scream. Distantly, he wondered why nobody else was trying to help him but deep down he knew why. Nobody would be able to fight off Whumper if they tried. He manages to work his eyes open once more, trying to ignore the low throbbing in his nose and now the back of his skull but then… he sees Whumper looming over him, screwdriver in hand, poised overhead, ready to come crashing down and pierce right through his fucking eye socket. He’s suddenly breathless.

“No, no, no– Stop! Please don’t–” His voice cuts off with a frantic cry and he feels that woosh of air and a sharp sound that must’ve been his world crashing around him… but the pain never came. It wasn’t delayed like before. It wasn’t there at all. Whumpee’s eyes slowly cracked open, breaths coming much too fast, and he met Whumper’s stony visage… those dark, intense eyes. Whumpee’s eyes shift to the side to the screwdriver, now lodged into the intricately carved cedar countertops… right next to his head. He gulps and doesn’t say a word.

The club is entirely silent now. The next words are whispered even quieter, but they come out crystal clear.

“Call me a mutt again.”

Whumpee’s eyes stay locked on the screwdriver, thoughts spiraling, mental images of that lodged in his skull and blood and agony and— There’s another sharp tug of his hair and his eyes shoot to Whumper’s once more. He’s closer now. A mere breath away.

“I said… call me a mutt again, Whumpee.”

It was hard to shake his head with that hand still gripping him by the hair, but he did anyway, managing only a small whimper that sounded vaguely like ‘I’m sorry’. A few moments pass of this neverending standoff. And just when Whumpee was half convinced it would never break and that those eyes would eventually leave two burning holes in his head, Whumper tilts his head.

And he smiles.

And he murmurs, low and charismatic like it had been when he first walked in, “Well… I’m glad we got that settled then. I would hate to not be able to support my favorite club.” His fingers loosened and slid from the tangled hair, giving him a condescending pat. “And my favorite club owner… Right?” Again at a loss for words, Whumpee just nods. Finally, mercifully, Whumper recedes and lets Whumpee crumple bonelessly to the floor.

For the next two weeks, the Harpoons stopped by and visited every night. Whumpee never said a word about it. Not a single peep.

[flowerpetalprincess]

Merry Whump Of May || 2023

Stitches

Caged

Experimentation

Losing Control

Coughing Up Blood

Rope Burns

Immortality

Torture

Fever

Numb

Fight

Poison

Grief

Mercy

Forgotten

Threats

Self-Sacrifice

Nightmares

Scars

Beaten/Crushed

Bleeding

Auction

Demon/Cursed

Trapped Under Water

Needles

Bruises

Stabbed

Panic Attack

Isolation

Stepped on

Comfort

-

I understand Merry Whump of May is often for writing prompts, and last year I used those as inspiration for art based responses.

This year seemed a little more difficult to work with, and given I needed a backlog and couldn't find a list until May had already begun, I made my own.

This is my personal list and is focused around art, rather than writing.

Feel free to use if you'd like, but please don't repost without permission.

Inspiration; x x x

[bluenotebooks11]

does anyone have a merry whump of may 2023 list? is there an official one or do i just do whatever the fuck i want? someone please inform me.

[serickswrites]

Ready Set Go

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Warnings: restraints, torture, suffocation

Whumpee’s chest was heaving. They were sweating and shaking. And they were too tired to try and break free from the restraints. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” Whumper smiled as they waved the plastic bag they’d been using to suffocate Whumpee. “You lasted a whole minute and a half this time. What do you see we make it to two this time?”

“Please,” Whumpee rasped. They definitely could not make it to two. “Please,” they begged once more. 

“Big breath,” Whumper coaxed as they pulled the bag over Whumpee’s head, cutting off all access to air. 

Whumpee’s lungs burned immediately, dark spots encroaching on their vision. They struggled against Whumper until it became too much and the darkness took over. 

And blessed, delicious air was suddenly filling their lungs. Whumpee took gulping breaths as they blinked through their tears. “You didn’t even make to a minute fifteen,” Whumper pouted. “You got to do better next time.”

“Please,” Whumpee sobbed. “No more.”

“You gotta make it to at least a minute thirty this time.” Whumper didn’t wait for Whumpee to take a breath this time. They just pulled the bag over and held it tight over Whumpee’s head. 

[chaotic-orphan]

Partners in Crime (Merry Whump of May: day 21)

Charismatic : “sit”// vial // balcony

Tw: forced swallowing of suspicious substance, handcuffs, small spaces

Completely unedited :) so read at your peril

~*~*~*~*~*~

Casper let out a groan as the car finally came to a stop. With his hands cuffed behind his back and his legs bunched up in the tight space, there was no way to stop himself from hitting his head off a corner at the sudden stop. It only aggravated his headache from the beating Monroe’s goons had given him before they stuffed him in here.

Casper heard two car doors open and close followed by footsteps that got closer and closer to the boot. Casper knew this was inevitable, if you stuff someone in a boot and park the car, usually you’re going to have to remove them from the boot, but still… his heart pounded all the same.

It was Gavin who opened the boot and stared down at Casper with a wicked grin. “Enjoy the ride, Casper?”

“I’d enjoy it more if I didn’t have to see your face, ugly,” Casper replied, already moving to sit up in the boot which turned out to be more of an effort than he initially thought.

As soon as he sat up Gavin had a fist wrapped into Hero’s shirt and yanked him forward. Casper’s eyes went wide but he could do nothing to stop himself as his body went with gravity and he fell face first onto the concrete. At the last-minute Casper jutted his shoulder forward, taking the brunt of the impact there instead his face but it still hurt.

“You’re such a dick,” Casper spat, rolling onto his back and wanting to kick his legs at Gavin. He would have too, except for his legs being dead. His blood fizzed as feeling slowly returned to him. Gavin let out a stupid laugh that grated on Casper’s ears, hurting more than the fall.

God… Casper really wanted Monroe to just kill the fucker already. Give Casper some peace, hire better goons.

“Oi,” the other goon called, voice drawl and monotone. “What’s the holdup?”

“He’s being difficult,” Gavin said in reply. Casper heard a sigh and then the other guy walked around the car to see Casper lying on the ground. Casper instantly scurried backwards as best he could on his cuffed hands and pins-and-needle-riddled legs that was just becoming awake.

Monroe’s other favourite goon, who Casper only knew as Dante, was far scarier than Gavin thought he was. He was lethal, efficient and humourless. His pale eyed stare pinned Casper in place after Casper’s back hit the wall. Casper watched as Dante reached behind his back and retrieved his gleaming pistol, drawing back the hammer and loading a round into the chamber with the simple flick of his thumb.

Dante inclined his head, voice monotone as he said: “would you like to walk up to Monroe’s suite, Casper? Or crawl?”

Casper set his mouth into a resolute, thin line, trying to maintain any of his dignity that vanished when Dante was involved. “I think I’ll walk,” Casper replied, already pushing himself up by leveraging his back against the wall.

Dante’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t holster his pistol; he just walked over to Casper and grabbed the crook of his elbow before pushing him towards the lift that led to the hotel above. Casper knew exactly where he was. Dante had brought him here multiple times before. The handcuffs and the boot treatment was new, but Casper didn’t have to think twice about why he was cuffed. Why Dante was being especially impatient…

Gavin followed him into the lift and pressed the button for the penthouse suite. This was when the nerves usually kicked in, but today Casper was more scared of Dante than Monroe. Monroe, he could sweet talk. Dante was like talking to a wall. An imposing, emotionless brick of a wall. The only advantage Casper had for assurances that Dante wouldn’t kill him was Monroe’s… fondness for Casper.

On good days, Casper liked to think on his relationship like more of a partnership. Where Casper and Monroe were equals. That’s the way it had always been, but lately… well, things have been tense to say the least.

He cast his eyes to the ascending numbers of the lift, watching every floor rise until he reached floor 63: Monroe’s home, the penthouse suite.

Dante punched in the six-digit passcode to enter the penthouse, while Gavin nudged Casper with his shoulder. “You fucked up big this time Casper, I don’t think Monroe’s gonna be so forgiving.”

Casper scoffed, glancing back over his shoulder to Gavin. “Even if he kills me, it would be a blessing. At least I wouldn’t have to stand so close to you.”

“You just think you’re so smart, don’t ya?” Gavin cursed, shoving Casper forward. Casper didn’t brace for a push and so he stumbled forward, just at the perfect timing that the lift doors opened. Casper lost his balance but recovered slightly and only dropped to one knee.

“I don’t think I’m smart, Gavin,” Casper replied easily, getting one foot under him. He shot a smirk over his shoulder to the bull in a China shop and said: “I just know I’m smarter than you.”

Casper got his second foot under him and went to stand but froze when he felt Gavin’s meaty hand on the back of his neck.

“Why you little—”

Dante’s cool voice cut through Gavin’s no doubt colourful insults. “You’ve wasted enough time already.”

Gavin’s hand disappeared from Casper’s neck, instead Dante’s hand replaced it and yanked Casper up. Before Casper could protest, Dante shoved him forward, further into Monroe’s apartment, the threat clear. Keep walking or else.

“Okay, alright! I’m going,” Casper grumbled, rolling his shoulders, thankful his legs had stopped prickling and was now fully functioning. Casper walked into the kitchen and froze.

Sitting at the kitchen island with a steaming cup of coffee beside him sat Monroe. He smiled when he saw Casper and stood to greet him. A hand pressed between Casper’s shoulder blades shoved him further into the kitchen, barely catching himself.

“Casper,” Monroe greeted, his voice soft and melodic like a warm tenor, pleasing on the ear. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Casper bit back his unhelpful reply and just beamed a smile at Monroe instead. He had to play this safe, otherwise he’d probably end up dead. Casper matched Monroe’s steps forward, shrugging as casually as he could with his hands cuffed behind his back.

“Yeah, well. Not every day you get thrown into the boot of a car by two goons, is it?”

Monroe’s grin was sharper than a Stanley blade as he extended a hand to Casper’s forehead where Gavin had slammed his head against the ground to stop him from fleeing.

“You’re bleeding,” Monroe said, tenderly touching the broken skin around the wound. Casper barely caught the greedy look in Monroe’s eyes before he pressed his thumb to Casper’s cut. Casper hissed and recoiled, but Monroe caught the back of Casper’s head with his other hand and kept him still. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes!” Casper hissed, trying to shoulder Monroe away from him.

The corner of Monroe’s lips twitched up. “Good,” he said, digging his thumb in harder before pulling away from Casper altogether. The pain was more of an annoying ache really, a loss of sensation but he wanted to relieve it somehow. He wanted to reach up and press a tender hand to it, but with his hands cuffed he couldn’t really do much of anything.

He watched as Monroe strolled over to retrieve his coffee off the island, then shot a pleasant smile back and Casper.

“Shall we enjoy the sunset on the balcony, Casper?” He asked, but he was walking before Casper could answer. Casper glanced back to Dante and Gavin before setting his jaw and reluctantly following Monroe out to the balcony.

“I’d enjoy the sunset if you took these cuffs off,” Casper told Monroe, voice sweet like honey. Monroe smiled at Casper as he sat in his favourite cushioned armchair and set his coffee on the glass table in front of him.

Monroe gestured for Casper to take his usual seat in front of Monroe’s, “please, sit.”

“You know what, Monroe? I’d love a coffee, if you’re feeling generous,” Casper said with a sigh and a cheeky smile as he settled into his own cushioned chair.

Monroe laughed. “Oh, Casper… I am feeling a lot of things towards you at the moment,” his brown eyes cutting into Casper’s. “Not one of him is generous.”

Casper reclined back into the chair, kissing his teeth and switched his gaze to the bustling city instead. The sunset was beautiful, casting the buildings with soft orange light as the sun sank low into the blue and pink sky. Casper wished he could enjoy it like he usually did. Instead, he was here, sitting across from Monroe and trying his best to ignore the claw of fear that had gripped his chest.

“I thought we had an understanding, Casper,” Monroe began with his soothing tone and sugar-coated words. “I thought we was partners.”

“Yeah,” Casper said with a scoff, turning to look at Monroe. “I thought so too. Then, next thing I know Dante’s at my door, beating the shit out of me to drag me here to you! My phone didn’t break by the way, it still works. Normal people call when he need something.”

Monroe’s eyes flashed with a drop of cruelty, a knowing smirk spreading across his face.

“Are you really trying to play coy with me, Casper?” Monroe asked with a laugh. “We both know you’re smarter than that.”

Casper sat forward in his chair and tried for a charming smile. “How about you take these cuffs off and we can have a lovely little chat, hmm? That’s what you want right? To smooth everything over.”

Monroe hummed, taking a sip of his coffee and glancing out across the city’s skyline. Casper huffed out a scoff and rolled his eyes, glancing back to the door to track where the other two arseholes was.

“Of course, Casper. We can have a civil conversation.”

Casper cocked an eyebrow, waiting for the and, if or, but. Monroe in reply, took something out of his pocket and placed it on the table between him. Casper made a point of looking at it — it was like a scientist’s test tube but smaller with a cork in it, or a vial of some toxic substance. The liquid inside was a deep purple where the sun hit it, but otherwise it looked black. When Casper glanced back at Monroe he was smiling, looking very comfortable and pleased with himself.

The warning bells was already blaring in his mind, so Casper just remained silent. Even if he wanted to speak, he wouldn’t know what to say.

“I’ll take off your cuffs, as long as you drink this.”

“I can’t drink it unless you take the cuffs off,” Casper shot back, agitated.

“Nonsense, “Monroe waved away, grabbing his coffee from the table and nodding at someone behind Casper. “That’s what I pay Dante for.”

A hand crossed in front of Casper, and he recoiled back, his heart racing. He jumped to his feet as Dante appeared in front of him, but a pair of hands on his shoulders dragged him back down to the chair and held him there.

There was a pop as the vial was uncorked.

“No, no, no! Wait!” Casper cried, struggling under Gavin’s hold as Dante stepped too between Casper’s legs that ruled out the use of his legs. “Monroe! What is that?!”

“Open up, Casper,” Dante said in the same monotone droll. “Don’t make me force you.”

Casper’s chest rose and fell too fast as he continued to struggle, turning his head away as Dante reached forward. A hand in Casper’s hair had him crying out as Dante wrenched his head backwards.

“Aagh! Get off of me!” Casper cried, twisting and turning, trying to stop Dante’s hand from getting closer or even better, spilling the fucking contents of the vial.

“Always so difficult,” Dante sighed, yanking Casper’s head back until he was staring at the sky. Casper grit his teeth to keep from crying out or opening his mouth. Dante leaned over Casper, pressing his forearm across Hero’s forehead, keeping him down and with his freehand he grabbed Casper’s nose and plugged it between his fingers.

Casper’s eyes widened, his struggles renewing as he realised what Dante was doing. Those pale, uncaring eyes stared down at Casper’s, waiting for him to open his mouth.

“You could have done it the easy way, you idiot,” Dante said, watching as Casper went purple from holding his breath. The struggling didn’t help with his lack of oxygen and Casper was afraid he’d burst or pass out and so —

Casper gasped and then the cool liquid was running down his throat. Casper coughed and sputtered, trying to spit it out. Before he could, Dante slammed his palm under Casper’s chin and dug his fingers into Casper’s cheek. Those pale eyes stared down soulless and bored.

“Swallow it, you child.”

Casper tried to twist his head free, but Dante didn’t let him. Dante slammed Casper’s head back again, so he was staring at the sky.

“Oi,” Dante drawled. “Do I have to cut off your oxygen again or are ya gonna behave?”

Casper pulled every ounce of hatred from his body into the glare he shot at Dante, his nostrils flaring but he knew there was only one way that this ended.

Casper swallowed the now warm liquid. “Is it gone?”

“Mmph,” Casper tried to affirm.

Dante tilted his head. “Swallow again.”

Casper obeyed. Satisfied, Dante let go of Casper’s cheeks and stepped away. Casper let his head fall forward, rolling his neck to try and get rid of the creak. Dante stepped to the side of Casper’s chair and snapped his fingers onto his palm in a ‘come here’ gesture that Casper understood to mean give Dante his hands.

Casper leaned forward, coughing slightly. Dante grabbed Casper’s cuffed hands none too gently and Casper heard the satisfying click that signalled his freedom.

Casper coughed again as he brought his hands in front of him, glaring at Monroe as he rubbed his wrists.

“What—” Casper said, cutting himself off with a cough. “What was that, Monroe?”

Monroe’s smile was cruel as he leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands between his knees. Casper’s throat felt so dry, and swallowing wasn’t doing anything to relieve the scratchiness.

“You remember Colt,” Monroe said.

Casper raised his brows. “Yeah? Vaguely?”

“He works in science, in a lab more specifically. Remember he made those power dampeners that the police love.”

“Yeah, they’re not the only ones,” Casper spat pointedly. His wrists weren’t the only things those stupid cuffs affected. It left Casper’s abilities disoriented afterward, something Monroe no doubt wanted Casper to experience. That off kilter, claustrophobic—

Something lurched in Casper’s chest, as if someone had just hit him from inside with a hammer. Casper’s hand went to his chest, fingers digging into his ribcage.

“Something wrong?” Monroe asked kindly.

“What—?” Casper breathed before another pang hit him and Casper jerked forward, taking in two long, panicked lungfuls of air. Casper got to his feet, needing to get away because something was wrong. Something was so so… wrong.

His vision turned as if Casper was on a waltzers or something and he barely managed to brace himself with his hands before he hit the balcony floor, heaving.

“AGH! Mo— Monr—” Casper cried, screaming as his chest burned, spreading a current of pure pain from his heart around his body. Casper’s strength left him as his body convulsed and felt like it was burning. As if an army of fire ants was crawling under his skin, biting and cutting and burning.

Casper curled into a ball, grabbing his knees and digging his nails into his waist as his breath seemed to falter and stop and he was so hot, his mind blind with pain as stars burst behind his eyes and something was wrong!

Casper shivered, his clothes scratching and uncomfortable as he writhed in pain, loud whimpers and screams torn from his throat as the poison made its way through his veins. That’s all that little vial could be… poison. Monroe… Monroe was going to kill him…

As if reading Casper’s thoughts Monroe stood, pressing his heel into Casper’s shoulder and kicking him onto his back. Casper’s glare was probably teary and ineffective, but he glared up all the same as his energy ebbed and flowed through his body, shivering and almost paralysed.

“Yeah, nerdy Colt. Little genius really,” Monroe said with a casual shrug, crouching so he could get closer to Casper. Casper tried to lift his arm and push him away, but he could barely lift it off the ground. “Well, I asked Colt if he could somehow manufacture an ingestible version of the power dampeners.”

Casper’s eye’s widened in horror, mumbling out incoherent protests as his body spasmed beneath him.

“Oh hush, don’t worry. I don’t want your abilities gone, I just wanted to punish you for disobeying me, Casper,” Monroe said softly. His words anything but soothing. He reached out and brushed some of Casper’s sweat-soaked hair from his forehead and smiled down at him almost tenderly. “The effects are temporary, Colt assured me, maybe two or three days—”

“You’re a bastard,” Casper spat, teeth chattering.

Monroe grinned.

“The effects are temporary, Casper, but I hope the message won’t be,” he said as he moved his hand to Casper’s throat and squeezed. Casper’s body only responded weakly, his arm brushing Monroe’s trying to dislodge it, but Monroe leaned so his breath fanned Casper’s cheek. “And if the message gets lost along the way, well, I had back-ups made in case you need a little reminder every now and then.”

Dark spots crowded the edges of Casper’s vision and for a moment he thought Monroe was going to choke him out.

Dante said something to the side and Monroe raised his brows, intrigued. Then as lazily as he cut off Casper’s oxygen he stood to his full height and grabbed his empty mug off the table. Casper gasped in air, turning on his side as he guzzled in sweet, fresh air into his lungs.

His smile was the same, usual charismatic one he wore when he was trying to imitate a human being. “Wonderful. Well Casper, get up. Duty calls. You can’t just lie around on my balcony all day. I’ll put on the kettle.”

Casper rolled onto his back and stared at the colour-streaked sky, his body spent and his mind racing. All he wanted to do right now was sleep, or die, or kill Monroe and Dante— or all three.

As soon as he got his breath back, he’d do one of him. Maybe. Probably, for now he just stared at the sky.

“Casper!” Monroe called from inside. “If you don’t move in the next ten seconds, I’ll get Dante to administer a second dose.”

Casper held up his middle finger through the window, not caring if Monroe even saw it. Reluctantly Casper sat up and got to his feet slowly, using the furniture to help him up.

He had made up his mind: he was going to kill Monroe…

after coffee.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

[jedi-lothwolf]

The Merry Whump of May Day 2: "Don't You Dare."

Fandom: Star Wars The Clone Wars

Warning: Character Death

Summary: Obi-wan never thought a memory of the past would be ruined during the war. Anakin was never a fan of listening to other people.

    "Anakin, give that back." Obi-wan sighed

    Anakin held his master's lightsaber, taunting him. "What are you gonna do?" He was ready to run away. 

   "Don't you dare" Obi-wan told his Padawan.

    At the tail end of 'dare', Anakin took off down the hall. "Anakin!" Obi-wan yelled after him. Chasing him down the hall, the Jedi knew it would be a while before he got the boy to train. Like most ten year olds, he was difficult.

    However, Anakin was his padawan. Training him was a pain but something told him it would be worth it in the end. Watching the kid run away with his lightsaber, Obi-wan couldn't help but smile. As frustrating as it was, it had some humor to it.

    It had been years since Anakin had stolen his lightsaber and made Obi-wan  chase him around the temple to get it back. As the years passed, the little boy that Qui-gon had picked up on Tatooine, grew into an adult.

    Now the two brothers were generals in a war. They would fight side by side from time to time. Today was no different. "Hello Anakin."

    "Hey Obi-wan. Good to see you."

    "Likewise. Shall we go over the plan?"

    "Probably."

    Sitting together, the two looked over the battle plans and created them. They carefully thought out each attack and strategy, trying to find one that would take them to victory with the least amount of casualties.

    The battle had started as they normally did. Hours of combat seemed to never end. Now they were pinned.

    "What now?"

    "I have a plan but you're not gonna like it."

    "What's your plan?" Obi-wan asked Anakin.

    Explosions went off all around them. Obi-wan's ears were starting to ring, a sound he never did quite get used to.  "I'm going to take out the command tank."

    "You'll die before you get there." Dismissing the thought, Obi-wan started to come up with another idea.

    "Do you have such little faith in little old me?" Anakin joked.

    Rolling his eyes, Obi-wan ignored the comment.

    "I'm going to do it. It's our best shot."

    "Don't you dare." Obi-wan told his padawan.

    Anakin didn't listen. Running towards the command tank, Anakin deflected bullets. He got to the tank and slashed it with his lightsaber. The droids attacked the tank, using it as a weapon to kill Skywalker. Pieces of the tank scattered across the field. Anakin's body lie burned and still not far from the biggest part of the tank.

    "Anakin!" Obi-wan screamed, Cody kept him from going to him.

    The clone's arms wrapped around his body. "The medics will help him."

    The world felt colder than he remembered. Trying to shake the feeling of loss was harder with Anakin then Qui-gon. Then again, Obi-wan had time to grieve with his father.

    The battle couldn't stop for one man. If it could, there would never be any fighting. Kix pulled Anakin away from the scene and tried to find his vittles.

    Cody got Obi-wan away from the scene. The fight continued and ended with a Republic victory.

    Staying with Obi-wan, Cody never left his side. He already knew that General Skywalker had died. He had seen it in Rex and Kix's body language. Somehow, he knew Obi-wan knew.   However, for everyone's sake, it was best to keep that quiet.

    No words were exchanged when Kix hand Obi-wan Anakin's lightsaber. Maybe if Anakin had just listened.  Anakin never liked to listen.

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Are there official rules for this event? If so, where are they?

Hi! When I first made this event, I wanted it to be as accessible as possible, and as such, there aren't really any rules. Any medium is allowed, and you can pretty much do whatever you want to make the event work for you. Even if you want to pick and choose prompts from different days, I have no problem with that - all I really ask, which I would hope people do anyway, is that you tag your posts with content warnings, and ideally tag the various Merry Whump of May hashtags, which can be found in this blog's pinned post for the event.

If people would like for there to be a clearer set of rules for completionism, then feel free to let us know and that might be something we can figure out.

[ex0rin]

so.

there's no new @themerrywhumpofmay this year (that I can find) which is fine tbh because I didn't finish it last year BUT I remember being in this same spiral of (depression) not being able to write at this exact point when it was happening and although I didn't finish, I still managed nine days...

that said, I think I'm gonna try and pick it up at Day 10 and see if I can get through some more this year - fingers crossed that it kickstarts me back up!

here's the original prompt list from last year if anyone feels like playing along ❤

UPDATE: apparently I had written most of Day 9 but hadn't finished it, so I'll actually be starting there (even if I might scrap the original)

[shywhumpauthor]

The Merry Whump of May—Day Twenty-Two (Hero saved by supervillain part 3)

“You can lead a bitch to water, but you can’t make them drink”

Origami | Amnesia | Attic

Alt prompt- Teacup

Previous || Merry Whump of May Masterlist

Hi yes I know this is awful and doesn’t make sense really I was really rushing to get it done if/when it’s continued I promise the next will be better

Cw: Kinda kidnapping, mentioned torture, disorientation, kinda implied drugging maybe

Hero woke up feeling warm and comfortable.

It wasn’t a startle awake, like the brutal grounding after their typical nightmares, not one that left them drenched in sweat and out of breath. It wasn’t one where they woke up screaming, sobbing from the twisted memories that plagued their sleep, no.

It was a nice, gentle wake, dawning on them slowly like a morning sun rising to cast a soft glow over their face. Their body felt surprisingly light, without a single worry weighing down on them. Nothing prompting them to get up, no sirens or screams for help or urgent assignments from the Agency. There was nothing but their own will to guide them as they lay there for many minutes longer, before finally opening their eyes.

They were in a king-sized four-poster bed, sheets as soft as cashmere pooled around them, a thick duvet pulled to their shoulders. The room they were in was large and airy, a wall of windows gaping out towards a cityscape on their left. They could see the sun, just barely peeking around the side of the window, the bed positioned in such a spot where the light could bathe over them without glaring. The room was furnished to follow a French country sort of theme, whites and beiges layering with just enough color spotted around to not make it feel washed out.

Hero was warm, the room a perfect temperature where they could be cocooned in blankets without overheating, but not cold enough to force them to stay huddled in bed.

They took their time getting up, blissfully ignoring the memories of what had happened when they were last conscious. At least, until they tried to sit up, and a tight pain tugging across their chest stole their breath.

Hero couldn’t help the gasp, a hand raising unsteadily to their chest as they fumbled to get the blankets off of them.

Their torso was bound with soft white bandages, tight enough they could feel the pressure against their sides, but not for it to be uncomfortable. Across the front of their chest, spots of blood had managed to seep through where the wounds had been deepest, but they looked like they had dried since.

They couldn’t ignore the flashes of memory any longer. Things were spotty after their encounter with Villain, but they remembered enough to know what had happened.

They remembered the gash in the back of Villain’s head, caved in and deep enough to reveal slivers of skull.

Hero forced themself to push that from their mind. They couldn’t think about that. Not with their stomach already twisted in knots, bile leaving a sour taste in their throat.

Shakily, Hero climbed out of the bed, bracing their hands against the high mattress as their legs trembled under their weight. They gave themself a moment to stable, looking around the room as they did so.

They knew exactly where they were.

Questions and fear stung their mind, but they were able to dismiss most of them. They kept their mind steady, forcing themself to remain rational as their eyes fell upon a neatly folded stack of clothes on the nightstand next to the bed.

Supervillain. They knew that. Supervillain had killed Villain and saved them. Kidnapped them? Saved? Hero’s hand rose to the clothes, unfolding the shirt from the pile. It was long sleeved, made of soft, breathable cotton. Below them, a pair of comfortable lounge pants, which Hero realized just how desperately they needed to change as they took in the sorry state of their current—remaining—attire. Their shirt was gone, pants ruined, stained with blood and dirt and things that Hero didn’t even want to think about, torn at the knees and various places where they had scraped against the pavement.

They didn’t think twice as they changed, tugging off their clothes with a bit of difficulty from their limited motion, frowning at the state of their skin below before pulling on the provided ones.

Hero knew they were going to fit before they had put them on, but still, it was unsettling how they fit perfectly. Just the way they liked, too. Not too tight around the arms, fitted shoulders but with enough give they could move naturally.

They braced a hand against one of the bedposts, turning to face out at the room. Unsure what to do, they tried to fold their dirty clothes and tuck them aside, but they slipped from their hands and Hero couldn’t bend to pick them up, so they shuffled them into a pile with their foot and hoped that was good enough.

It felt so wrong compared to the classy, clean aesthetic of the room, but what were they going to do about it?

Across the room, there was a large arching door, propped open a few inches with a doorstop.

They weren’t a captive, that much was clear by now. Or at least, if they were, it was one of the most civilized hostage situations they’d ever been a part of.

Hero liked to think that they were rational. That they thought things through, planned before acting. And most of the time, they did, but there was something, a certain weightlessness to their thoughts that dissuaded any sort of forethought. They heard faint music, the airy sounds of a piano and strings, content and cheerful that made all of their worries and fear slip away.

They were following the sounds out of the bedroom, down a large hall with a carpeted runner, and into an open kitchen before so much as thinking about what—more specifically who—they’d encounter outside.

Before last night, Hero had never seen Supervillain. At least not clearly. Blurred, grainy images from security cameras, a single glance on the news, but never enough to see them.

It was… odd, seeing them. Even from the night before, Hero’s sight had been obscured by tears and shadows, they hadn’t gotten a good look at the supposed criminal who had saved them.

They looked normal.

No, that wasn’t right at all. They were about as far from normal as possible. They were tall and built sturdily, a power radiating off them that could be felt even from across the room, and not just in terms of supernatural abilities. Supervillain sat at a counter island, sipping from a teacup while humming along to the music that played from a concealed speaker. There was a book open in front of them, and they were dressed in a simple white shirt and sweats, as unthreatening as they could ever possibly appear.

Still, it was almost dizzying, as Hero took a hesitant step into the kitchen, socks sliding soundlessly across the vinyl floor. They barely dared to breathe, but still, the criminal must have heard them, turning to look over their shoulder.

Their mouth cracked into a warm smile, but the kind effect was destroyed by the jagged scar that twisted from the corner of their mouth up towards their eyebrow, and Hero couldn’t help the sinking stone of fear that dropped into their stomach. Hero certainly hadn’t noticed that the night before.

“Oh Hero, I didn’t think you’d be up yet,” Supervillain set their cup down, and it looked almost humorous dainty in their hand. They stood up, letting their book flip closed. “Here, sit, you shouldn’t be on your feet this soon. Breakfast is almost done, it’ll be ready in just a few minutes,”

They were on the other side of the kitchen, but in just two steps, Supervillain was by their side, pressing a gentle hand against Hero’s back to guide them forwards.

A wave of disorientation crashed over them, the blissfully thoughtless feeling that had led them to the kitchen gone. Their mind was still spinning, trying to comprehend how Supervillain had moved—until they were being guided to sit in one of the island’s stools, a steaming cup of tea placed in front of them.

“You must be starving, you poor thing, I’ll get you some fruit to snack on while this finishes, alright?”

At their side one moment, gone the next, Supervillain stood in front of the fridge digging through the shelves, pulling out a package of freshly bought strawberries.

Then they were back standing next to Hero, placing a small bowl of the freshly cut berries in front of them. Feeling them startle, Supervillain rested a light hand on Hero’s shoulder.

“It’s alright, Hero, I’ll explain everything in a bit, okay? Just eat for now, we’ll talk after breakfast.”

With another smile, Supervillain had moved again, standing by the stove at a sizzling pan.

————————————

@themerrywhumpofmay

@annablogsposts

I know this is actually awful I hate it I’m sorry I’m really fucking stressed rn and I feel like crap I just really wanted to post to not fall behind

[russet-writing]

Planning on maybe participating in the Merry Whump of May this year... but realistically I will only be doing one prompt a week. And just choosing one out of each week that inspires me the most. I am a very busy boy lol

[flowerpetalprincess]

Whump Of May || Day 10 - Numb

Caregiver wasn't a hero, if anything, he was the funny side character that kept fucking up no matter how hard he tried.

At least he knew he was a failure.

He also knew that Whumper was the only one smart enough to save Whumpee.

-

Based off an old Portal 2 fanfiction I never finished. This particular fanfiction was based off the Reginer Spektor song 'Blue Lips'.

The story was to end with a particularly harsh winter storm hit Chell and Wheatley fairly hard, and Chell, not able to cope as well with the temperatures, nearly dies.

In an attempt to help, Wheatley opts to take her to GLaDOS. Unfortunately, trudging through the storm may do more harm then good.

Anyway, when I thought of 'Numb' I thought of the cold, of freezing, unable to feel your fingers, so figured this would fit well!

List I'm using.

-

Portal and Wheatley belong to Portal, Portal 2, Valve Corporation

Do not steal, repost, or alter my art in any way.

[bluenotebooks11]

when stoic whumpees crumble >>>>

[serickswrites]

Compass

Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, hunting, sadistic whumper

Whumpee trembled in the back of the truck. They had tried to slip the cuffs around their wrists for the last half hour as Whumper drove deeper and deeper into the woods, but it had been to no avail. They were stuck going to wherever Whumper wanted them to go, doing whatever Whumper wanted them to do. 

The truck suddenly stopped and Whumpee slammed into the rear window. Whumper chuckled as they climbed out. “Whoops, was a little eager to start our fun early.”

“Please,” Whumpee panted as the world spun around them, “let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Please,” they begged. 

Whumper grabbed Whumpee by the back of their neck suddenly. Their grip was hard and bruising as they began to fiddle with the cuffs on Whumpee’s wrists. As Whumpee struggled, Whumper squeezed tighter and tighter until Whumpee squealed with pain. 

“Quit it, will you? I’m trying to get these off you!” Whumper growled. 

The cuffs suddenly dropped from Whumpee’s wrists. Whumpee pulled their bruised wrists to their chest, their sudden freedom no longer welcomed. Before Whumpee could say anything, Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s right wrist and pulled. 

“Open your hand,” they ordered. 

Whumpee complied lest Whumper break their wrist. “I don’t understand. I--”

“You’re going to need this,” Whumper cut Whumpee off gruffly as they dropped a small compass in their hand. 

“I don’t understand. Please, let me go.”

Whumper smiled as they stared down at Whumpee. “I am.”

“Thank you, thank you,” the words tumbled from Whumpee’s mouth. They could not believe how lucky they were in this moment. 

“You have an hour, Whumpee. I’m letting you go for an hour before I go after you. You escape in that hour, that’s your freedom.” Whumper smiled pleasantly. “However, if at the end of the hour you’re still here,” Whumper’s eyes grew dark, “then I will find you. And I will hunt you down like the animal you are.”

“Please! I won’t tell anyone, I swear!” Whumpee had no idea where they were. Or even what direction safety was. How were they going to get out of there?

Whumper checked their watch. “You have fifty-eight minutes now. I’d get running if I were you. The closest town is about twenty miles due south. You make it there, you’re safe, Whumpee. Run, run for your life.”

Whumpee scrambled from the truck bed and started running. They had no idea where south was. And they had no idea how long it would take them to go twenty miles. But they had to get out of there. Had to before Whumper hunted them down. 

[chaotic-orphan]

Merry Whump of May, Day 31:

“Thin ice” : lighter // chronic pain // dead ends

Okay look, is it long? Yes, but does it make up for not doing the entire Merry Whump of May? Absolutely. This is all you’re getting, and if you are inconsolable as to why, we’ll it’s the last day of May, okay, enjoooyyy

*~*~*~*~*

It was early. Too early to be awake, but somehow Whumpee was reaching for their phone that was blaring their call sound and put it to their ear, mumbling a tired: “hello?”

“Hello Whumpee.”

Whumpee was out of bed at the voice. His voice. Bare feet padding on hard wood floor, and looking around their room for any sign of an intruder. Their heart pounding against their chest, suddenly wide, wide awake.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you? My apologies.”

The phone was shaking in their hand, though they made their voice hard as they said: “I’m hanging up.”

A deep, reverberating laugh from the other end of the phone and Whumpee’s hand stopped shaking as ice flooded through their veins, sticking them to the floor, a shiver running up their spine.

“I have missed you, and your little adorable rebellious spirit.”

“Give me one fucking reason why—“

“And I see you’ve fallen back into bad habits in my absence. That just won’t do, Whumpee…” Whumper sighed and Whumpee had to stop the apology threatening to fall from their lips.

“How did you get my number?”

“I think the real question you should be asking yourself is how did I get your address?” Whumpee threw themselves at the window, grabbing the curtain in their hand and tearing it open. Eyes scanning left and right down their street and seeing no one. “No. Try again.”

Whumpee hung up, dropping the phone on their bed and listened. They put their ears to the floor, listening for any creaks, any sound. Breathing, anything. They jumped as the phone started ringing again and they just stared at it, breath coming out in short panicked gasps and fuck they were having a panic attack. Over a ringtone.

Whumpee reached with trembling fingers and answered the phone to a very pissed Whumper.

“Whumpee, Whumpee, why do you vex me so?” Whumper was singing down the phone gleefully and it made Whumpee want to scream. Whumpee walked to their door and opened it, peeking their head down the hall to the rest of their apartment.

If Whumper was here they would have heard his singing. Which meant Whumpee could breathe in peace for a few merciful moments.

“You’re not here,” said Whumpee, and then they listened again, quiet. Waiting.

Go on you bastard, call my bluff. Prove me wrong.

Whumpee could practically hear the smile at the end of the phone as Whumper said: “okay. Maybe I’m not, but I bet I made you poop your pants just a little bit.”

“You fucking sadist.”

“Watch your language, Whumpee. You’re on thin ice already, do you want that ice to break? I can pay you a personal visit if you keep testing my patience.”

“No!” Whumpee said, a little too quickly and Whumper chuckled again lightly on the other end of the phone.

“Good. So now that I have your attention… tell me. Did a little bit of pee come out?”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Oh Whumpee. So difficult. And after I went through the trouble of leaving a gift for you. It should be at your door. Go fetch it for me first and open it on call, then feel free to hang up, Whumpee.”

Whumpee’s ribs felt like they were caving in on their lungs as their eyes zeroed in on their front door. They walked down the half staircase of the loft and walked to the door.

A voice in their head criticising them for still obeying Whumper but they had to know. Had to know if they were there this morning. Had to know if they actually knew their address.

Whumpee’s hand reached up to the lock, then hesitated. What if this was just a trap? They’d open the door and Whumper would be waiting there in a blind spot.

“How do I know this isn’t a trap?” Whumpee demanded and Whumper chuckled lightly.

“It’s not a trap. Why, you hesitating at the door like a little coward, Whumpee?”

Whumpee huffed out a breath and hated that Whumper still knew them so well. That they didn’t change since their time in Whumper’s care. That no matter how much they wanted to think they moved on, they were still trapped in the past with Whumper’s name stamped all over their skin.

So Whumpee opened the door, and poked their head out, looking left and right and seeing no one. Then they stepped out and looked over the railing to the car park and found nobody waiting. They finally set their eyes on the small box waiting outside their door and picked it up, walking back inside and locking their door.

“You have it yet? The anticipation is killing me.”

“Yeah,” said Whumpee, voice cracking. “I have it.”

“Well come on now, don’t leave me in suspense. The card first whumpee.”

And still Whumpee obeyed and tore the card away from the parcel, putting the phone on speaker phone and laying it on the table. Whumpee pulled the card from the envelope and saw a teddy bear looking sad reading: “Sorry for your loss,” in cursive letters.

Whumpee opened it and saw just an address inside. The inner card reading: “Here for you whenever you need me.”

“I’m not going to this address,” said Whumpee putting the card down and picking up the parcel.

“Well, not to make you eat your words, Whumpee but— are you opening the package? Oh good. I won’t spoil it the fun, keep going.”

Something heavy fell out of the package, hitting the carpet floor with a dull thud but Whumpee didn’t pay attention to that. Instead they stared at the photograph in their hand and they wanted to get sick.

It was Caretaker. Tied to a chair, arms behind their back head hung low and blood… so… so much blood and Whumpee wanted to cry and curse and scream. They said they got out. They said Whumper would never know. The idiot.

“What was that? You’re never coming to the address? Should I put Caretaker out of their misery then or?”

“No!” Whumpee said too quickly and shut their eyes. Realising too late their mistake. Their display of emotion. Pathetic. Stupid.

Whumper just laughed down the phone. “Good. I should see you soon then? Let’s say, twenty minutes? If I hear a siren, Whumpee, I’ll make sure Caretaker knows that it was your fault they have to die.”

“Whumper, wait. Twenty minutes isn’t enough time for me to—“

“Well how about you make it happen, Whumpee? A little incentive for you, every minute you’re late, is another cut for Caretaker hmm? How about that?”

“You fucking—“

“Do you really want to waste time with that foul language?” Whumpee hung up and resisted the urge to throw their phone at the wall. They ran upstairs, pulling on a hoodie and a grey tracksuit and their runners before rushing downstairs again and grabbing their keys.

They unlocked the door, eyes going back to the table where they left their phone. Then the shiny metal on the ground below it. It was a lighter. It was Caretaker’s lighter. Their heart broke a bit but the took the lighter with them and ran out the door, not bothering to lock it.

They’d get Caretaker free.

Just like Caretaker did for them all those months ago.

Whumpee expected to pull up outside a deserted industrial park where a single lone warehouse waited for them and Whumper watched their every move.

They didn’t expect to pull up to the poshest hotel in the city and have a valet take their car to the parking lot, handing them a ticket in return for their keys. Whumpee didn’t have time to question it, as they ran into the lobby looking for Whumper. They still had a few minutes. Surely, surely.

Two security guards with a sign in their hands reading: “Guest of Whumper” had all sorts of bad news written all over it. For one, the two security guards were twice as tall as Whumpee and twice as broad. They were also wearing ear pieces which they just knew were on a constant live feedback loop to Whumper.

Whumpee wanted to hesitate. To run the other way. To grab their car and go and never look back, but they didn’t have the time. Which is exactly what Whumper wanted. They wanted Whumpee panicked and acting rashly because that was easier to control.

So instead of running Whumpee walked over to the security guards and handed themselves over. “Your name?” One of them asked and Whumpee told them.

The guards nodded, then moved. One stepping in front of Whumpee and extending a hand to the elevator. “Right this way, Whumpee.”

When they got into the lift, Whumpee’s nerves flared up again and they got the sudden urge to run. All that energy stored in their legs, adrenaline pumping going nowhere… it would exhaust them before they even got to the danger.

One of the guards put a key into the lift’s door panel, and keyed in a code and all Whumpee’s best laid plans turned to dust right before their eyes. Their plan of getting in, outwitting Whumper and running into the sunset with Caretaker all dashed by a simple fucking key and an elevator that was taking them God knows where.

Instead of going up or down, the lift moved backwards and then up, and Whumpee swallowed hard, putting their shaking hands deep into their hoodie pockets. To at least hide how much they were shaking.

“We have been instructed to…” one of the guards began, then coughed slightly, almost embarrassed. Whumpee looked up to see the hulking brute blushing at the command they had been given to follow. It was the strangest thing Whumpee had ever seen, and they’ve seen everything that should have been buried in Whumper’s dark, dark imagination.

The other guard took up the slack, and said: “we were instructed to give you these. Our boss said you’d know what to do.”

Whumpee looked over their shoulder at the other guard who held up a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs and Whumpee rolled their eyes, staring forward again.

“I’m not putting those on.”

“I don’t blame you,” said the first guard, which prompted the second to elbow the first.

“The boss said you had to.”

“Well the boss doesn’t pay my salary,” said Whumpee matter of factly. “So there is no way I am putting those stupid things on.”

“He doesn’t pay you?” the first guard asked. “That’s rough.”

“Ron!” the second guard cried. “You’re not supposed to chat this much.”

“What the boss doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” said Ron and Whumpee found themselves leaning towards liking the tall, strong security guard with morals.

“And when he finds out we haven’t carried out his orders to the letter guess who’s wages get cut?”

Whumpee’s heart dropped as they heard Ron sigh. “Ah shit. Sorry kid, but my daughter wants to go to college. Can you put them on?”

“No,” said Whumpee and prayed that the doors would open mercifully so Whumpee could flee the slowly shrinking metal cage that they were currently trapped in.

“Easy way or hard way, last chance to do it nicely,” the second guard said, warning and intent colouring their voice cold and still whumpee refused to play ball.

“Kid… there is literally no room to fight or flight right now, and I don’t want to get blood on my suit, so please? Put your hands behind your back. We’ll put them on loose, I promise,” and just because Ron said it so nicely Whumpee put their hands behind their back and fought the flinch at the sound of the handcuffs clacking on. They pulled their wrists apart, testing the metal, and swallowed when they realised there was barely an inch of give on each side.

The doors dinged and opened and Whumpee wanted to scream. If they just held out for five more seconds, they would have had control of their arms.

“Go on kid,” said Ron with a gentle push, and Whumpee let themselves be pushed. The other guard stayed in the lift while Ron escorted whumpee through the mansion hidden inside a hotel. That way it wasn’t like they were knowingly walking into the lion’s den. It was like it was against their will.

Whumpee didn’t even take in the extravagant decor or the winding halls they travelled before stopping in front of a black door. Of course the door was black. It was Whumper, of course the door was black.

“I was told to knock twice then leave,” said Ron and Whumpee nodded. Ron raised their fist to the door and stopped before knocking. “Hey, something’s not sitting right with me, so if you need the code for the lift it’s 7839, but you’ll need a key as well, I just…”

“It’s okay,” Whumpee nodded, committing the number to memory. “Thanks for that.”

“Yeah,” said Ron and then knocked twice. “Okay. Good luck.”

They needed a key. Whumpee needed a key to open the keypad and put in the code to freedom which they knew Whumper would never give them. Even if they somehow managed to grab it from Whumper, with their hands behind their back, they didn’t know which halls led to freedom and which one’s led Whumpee back to dead ends.

Whumpee steeled themselves as best they could.

Then the door opened.

*~*~*~*~*

@themerrywhumpofmay for the second and final time, your prompts were delightful, thank you for sharing them

[whump-in-the-closet]

Merry Whump of May 2023 Masterlist.

(updated irregularly)

May 3- "You're not looking too hot."

(whumpee/whumper, beat down)

May 5- "Do onto others as you would bla bla bla..."

(runaway, sadistic whumper, liberal use of arrows)

May 6- "It's a long story."

(whumpee/whumper, sold into a gladiator ring)

May 9- "We'll burn that bridge when we get there."

(oc Mal makes a guest appearance, on the run for murder, lady whump)

May 10- "Hit the hay."

(Villain and Supervillain break into a warehouse)

May 12- "Time flies when you're having fun."

(Caretaker/ Whumpee/ Whumper, lady whump)

May 13- "You made your bed, now bleed in it."

(elf whump, whumpee turned whumper)

May 16- "Take a break."

(Villain/ Sidekick, elemental whump)

May 20- “A taste of your own medicine.”

(interrogation and stabbing and a suit is ruined)

May 22- “You can lead a bitch to water but you can’t make them drink.”

(defiant and bitter whumpee, royal whumper who is a royal asshole)