#minor whumpee

[rosieposey-torturedpoet]

Okay, so this is really random: but I see a lot of like 'inexperienced' Whumpees who are the weakest/youngest out of the group

But like what if the youngest is the one everyone fears, I mean they're in the group for a reason

Picture this very specific scenario: The team is captured by Whumper and they are all taken to the same room, chained up to keep them from running or trying anything: and here comes Whumpee (a teenager that's like half the size of everyone in the room) with these insanely complicated locks, maybe they're wearing a straight jacket, with multiple guards while the rest of the team got one or two

Because if you think about it, younger people would have to work harder to prove their strength and 'worth' to the team. There has to be a reason for them to stay on the team

However my personal favorite of this trope is that the youngest is just so unpredictable; not only are they talented/wise beyond their years but you truly never know what they'll do next with all the talent they harbor

Maybe Whumper hates them because at least he can fall into this rythme with the rest of the team and learn their habits: but he physically can't do that for youngest because there is no routine or habit to fall back onto

Maybe they mastered a rare magic form at a young age, or were trained as a soldier

Then think of the CARETAKING OPPROTUNITIES?? A parental Caretaker that shows Whumpee what it's like to be a kid, who worry about they're little reckless living death wish 24/7, and give them a mom/dad that they deserve

I just love young, anti-hero, vigilante Whumpees who have seen so much and learned so many things at such a young age, to the point where they are constantly on the verge of villain because of their genuine desensitization to it all

Which causes everyone to be at least a little afraid of youngest, in some sense of the word

[defire]

Emotional conflict with defiant whumpees

Content: slapping, minor whumpee, punishment, beating, whipping

Those short little glares at whumper that dart all over the room afterward, measuring their chances and not liking the odds

Defiant kid not sure what would be most insulting so they're a little tentative about it, watching whumper's reaction closely

Making a biting remark and getting slapped for it. Feeling the ache and sting in their cheek, they hold back the second half of that comment.

A whumpee that was pretty stoic until whumpee 2 came along. All of a sudden whumpee 1 is very effectively insulting whumper every time they walk into the room, drawing all the abuse onto themselves.

Whumpee that cares about whumper, so instead of yelling or making biting remarks, they try to tell whumper to stop and stand their ground, only to get beaten down again.

When whumpee is only defiant around other people, no matter how much punishment they get, but when whumper drags them off somewhere private, they struggle to keep up their bravado.

Whumpee may be routinely beaten, but they are whipped for mouthing off. They save it for when they're royally pissed off.

Whumpee is encouraged to be defiant, but still punished for taking it too far. They're also punished even more harshly for being boring. They're constantly agonizing over how far to take it.

[ladyladywhump]

Boarding School Whump Prompts

Whumpee is separated from their parents against their will (potentially even their parents' will due to oppressive laws)

Whumpee is treated badly because their parents are dead and therefore they will not intervene if the school treats them poorly.

Whumpee is kicked out of their boarding school because their family cannot pay for it any longer, meaning they lose all their friends and prospects.

Even worse if they got kicked out because they were on a scholarship which they lost for doing the same things as their friends (getting high, skipping classes, ect.)

Awful, dreadfully cheap food that does not reflect the cost of the school.

Whumpee is forced to 'convert' to a religion because it is the schools' religion and they must follow the rules, made even worse if their family is part of a religion which is decreasing in numbers anyway, therefore they feel really guilty for giving in.

Whumpee is taught forcefully how a 'good student' should behave through violent force

Homesickness, made worse if they cannot return home due to a change of regime or if their home is destroyed

Whumpee's parent/s die while they're at boarding school and they wish they could mourn their deaths but they've never known their parents and only see them for a few hours every year, whenever their parents want to pretend to be good, loving parents before they get bored of it again.

Whumpee is sent to boarding school because they're not good enough for their parents. They know it's their fault because they can't seem to do the things that their siblings do: they're the heir yet they're the worst at everything.

Whumpee is the child of a politician who is sent away when a forced regime change means their parents are assassinated. They are given a new name by the new regime and told that if they tell anyone who they really are they will be killed. This is a mercy but they feel so guilty about it all the time - they have abandoned their country and what remains of their family for safety.

A political dissident Whumpee is captured and sent for 're-education' at a 'boarding school' which is mostly torture to provoke better behaviour. When Whumpee is finally allowed to leave, they are a changed person - they shake when they speak and they love their country and the Supreme Leader. They live an ordinary life, if you ignore that they are wiretapped, seem to be paraded constantly in public and never deviate from the same routine, ever.

Whumpee's head is flushed down a toilet, their possessions are broken or stolen and their bed is trapped.

[ghost-whump]

hello!! I saw requests are open and would be willing to write something with this prompt?

a character goes back in time and finds their enemy being tortured. now everything they knew that happens in the future makes sense and the situation provides some much needed context to fill in the gaps…the only thing is, after rescuing their future enemy from the torture, their enemy has now devoted their loyalty to their rescuer.

(@whumpwillow)

hi!! this ask was apparently sent last year, but it had not appeared in my ask box until now…

but i’ll try my best almost a year later! buckle up, it’s a long one.

Monster

Villain was a tough person. Angry at the world and at Hero, specifically. They’d been hell bent on destroying the planet (a bit clichéd, if you asked Hero, but fair) for so long and with such passion, that Hero had gotten curious.

As a government employee, they had access to the top secret time machine. One thing leads to another and then,

“Please! I’m begging you, please…”

Villain, albeit a much younger version, kneeled on the floor. They couldn’t have been much older than a teenager, lanky and pale. Dressed in dirtied and torn clothes that were clearly much too small, Villain clutched onto the legs of a woman that stood over them.

“I’m sorry, r-really, I am. I’ll be good and quiet and I won’t hurt anything ever again, I promise! Let me out, for just a minute, please, I-!”

They were cut off with a sharp slap. Hero held back a gasp. Though they stood in a dark corner, obscured from both of their views, they couldn’t help but feel too close to the scene. Like they were watching something they shouldn’t.

The woman kicked her foot, sending Villain onto the cement floor with cry.

“Don’t touch me, rat!” She held aloft a tin can, labeled as a vague mystery meat. The kind one would keep in apocalypse rations or a weird, evil boot camp. It didn’t look appetizing. As if she just stepped in a sticky puddle, the woman soured, “I’ve told you not to talk me like that. You know you don’t deserve my mercy. Not until you get better.”

Villain whimpered and held their cheek. “Sorry… I…” They scooted backwards into the wall.

The woman, stepping forward into the dim light of the room, placed the can on its side and lightly kicked it in Villain’s direction. It rolled until hit their shin, but they didn’t pick it up. Watery eyes stared at it, fingers twitching, but made no move to pick it up.

At first, Hero thought they might be afraid of it.

Villain looked up at the woman, then back at the can.

With a small grin, the woman said, “Good boy… Good restraint.” Then, silence. It dragged on for a minute, maybe more. “You can have it now.”

Villain lunged for the can, which had rolled away a little. They clutched it with shaking hands, pulling it close to their chest. Barely above a whisper, they mumbled, “Thank you, Mom.”

Spinning on her heel, the woman stormed off. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your mother,” She spat, “Not anymore.”

Her steps retreated as she ascended a flight of stairs, confirmed Hero’s theory that they were in a basement. Their attention was turned back to Villain at the sound of growling. Expecting a wild animal or beast, they were shocked to discover that it actually came from the teenager in the room. They had the can in their hands and teeth, trying to gnaw it open.

While Villain did… that… Hero’s eyes wandered the room. In the opposite corner was a worn and stained twin mattress, a thin blanket, and a pile of identical empty mystery meat cans. None have been opened the proper way, all are smashed, chewed, or other variously destroyed states.

Hero couldn’t help but think, as would anyone, “Poor Villain.”

They couldn’t just stand around and watch them struggle.

Cautiously, remembering that this Villain we’re talking about, Hero stepped out of the shadows. When the kid didn’t look up, they softly cleared their throat.

Villain’s eyes jumped up, scrambling back. They held the can, now slightly dented, like a weapon. “Who— Who are y-you? Get out of h-here!”

“It’s okay. My name is Hero, I’m here to help you.” They held their hands up, palms open. They’re no threat.

“N-no. You have to get away… You- You… I’ll hurt you! You can’t be here, i-it’s not allowed!” With a cry, they hurled the can at Hero, who reflexively caught it mid-flight.

Considering the can, rolling it over in their hand a few times, Hero appraised the damage. “Here, I’ll open this for you.”

Under Villain’s watchful glare, Hero reached into their pockets and pulled out a knife. They didn’t miss the whimper that came across the room at the sight. Stabbing the lid of the can, they jimmied it off with relative ease. Not a perfect cut, like they’d get with a can opener, but not bad.

Hero lowered to the floor, placing the can down. There was still a good ten-feet of distance between them, so they slid it across the floor. Villain snatched it and used their hands to shovel the mushy brown slop into their mouth. Between bites, they briefly looked back up at Hero. “Thanks,” They grunted.

“Yeah. It’s the least I could do.”

A minute passed in silence, occasionally broken by the horrible sounds of Villain devouring the meat like a wild animal.

“Do you want to talk to me now?” Hero asked, taking the smallest step closer.

Taking a pause from licking the inside of the can, “What?”

“Why are you here, I mean. Forgive me for saying this, but a dirty basement isn’t exactly the place to keep a teenager.”

Villain curled their knees to their chest, placing the can woefully beside them. “Why do you care? I don’t even — I don’t even know who you are.”

“I’m Hero. And you’re Villain. I know more about you than you think.”

“‘Hero’ is a stupid name.”

They grimaced. Charming as ever. “You’ll come around to it.”

Villain crawled over to their bed. They deposited the can with the others and flopped onto the mattress. It seemed to hurt them. “If you’re going to do something, would you just get it over with? I’m tired.”

“…”

“Well? Does a kid with an attitude not get your rocks off? Need something less mouthy?” They commented with a sneer.

“Why would I-” Hero cut themselves off, feeling even grosser than they did before. They steeled their face and pressed on. “Look, I’m just going to get you out of here. I don’t care about an attitude or why you’re down here, this isn’t right.”

Villain chuckled, “Good luck. I can’t leave here. It’s not allowed.”

“Why isn’t it allowed?” They questioned, taking another step closer. They were nearly at the foot of the bed.

“‘Cus I’m a monster,” Villain spat, grimacing at the word. “I hurt things, I just can’t stop myself. Animals, people, whatever. I’m not allowed outside because I’ll kill something, like I killed my sister.” Their voice got quieter as they spoke, less and less snarky with each passing moment. “Besides,” they sniffed, “I don’t even want to leave. I have everything I need here.”

Hero nodded along, contemplating. “Then why did you beg your mother to leave?”

Villain blanched. “That’s… That’s not…”

Without further prompting, Hero bent down and plucked Villain off the ground with surprising ease. The kid was light as a feather. The kid yelped but didn’t struggle. “Nope. You’re coming with me. No arguments.”

This was probably not the smartest decision Hero had ever made. Damned the consequences, the timeline, whatever. Hero took an oath to protect those in need and, well, Villain seemed pretty in need.

They pressed a few buttons on the time-machine on their wrist and in a flash of light, they were thrust forward in time.

The weight of Villain was gone from their arms, causing them to panic. They were supposed to be coming with them, but they just disappeared!? What happened, what —

“Welcome back, Hero!”

They stumbled, losing their balance from the jump. A hard grabbed their arm, keeping them steady. Hero looked up at this stranger. They didn’t have any assistants, there shouldn’t be anyone here, there can’t be…

It’s them, with shorter hair and rectangular glasses, they wore a lab coat and held a clipboard. But this was…

“Are you alright, Hero? It’s me, Villain.”

woof, that’s a long one. i wasn’t sure if i was going to finish it. once again, sorry it’s been like a year (unless it’s new and tumblr is wigging out on me) but i hope this is done to a good degree.

thanks for reading :]

General Tag: @morning-star-whump

[3-2-whump]

Khaled’s First Halloween

Well, okay, more like ‘Khaled’s First Pumpkin Carving’

Inspired by my parents’ exchange students they hosted over the years, and their exact reactions to sticking their bare hands into cold, clammy pumpkin guts for the first time 🫠

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

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

@defire

[the-baby-storyteller]

Cw for minor whump

Adoption Whump

Think a teenaged character in an orphanage or foster care. They’d always had a relatively good life; despite being orphaned their home was always filled with lots of other kids like them and they were happy. But, they’d heard horror stories of the horrible lives kids lived after adoption. Lives of abuse, of fear, of pain. They’d be put through endless torment, used, thrown around and beaten up, degraded simply because they were helpless, without a family, without a way to call for help. They shuddered at the thought, but surely, those stories were just that right? Stories. They were satisfied with their comfortable life, and if they ever got adopted, well, they were sure it couldn’t be that bad.

They were right on one front.

It wasn’t bad.

It was worse than they could have ever imagined.

The home seemed nice from the outside, a beautiful exterior, lush greenery, fountains sprawled over the grounds. Everything appeared to be perfect. To the average onlooker it would seem like a luxurious place for anyone to reside. It only made the reality of the situation ten times worse. Once inside, though still littered with decoration, the atmosphere was different. A threatening and frightening energy lingered in the air and the teen turned slowly toward their new owner. And that’s when it began.

The pain.

If asked, the teen couldn’t tell you what their daily life there was like. It was all jumbled together and fuzzy, their thoughts incoherent, clouded by suffering. There was only one thing that remained stable the whole time.

Hurt. Beatings. Pain. Anger. Hands. Kicks. Punches. Pain.

Each day was filled with impossible loads of tasks to accomplish.

Clean every inch of the house and do the laundry. Cook dinner and take care of my kids. Go out to buy groceries and entertain the guests. And I want this done before I get back.

They didn't talk to anyone except to be reprimanded for things out of their control. Every word said to them was meant to beat down, to crush. And when, not if, they didn't complete the overwhelming amount of work...well, they didn't like to talk about what happened then.

They went through life with eyes glazed over and a mind that constantly wished to be away, away from life, away from reality. The only thing they wanted was to leave.

Then, they were adopted by a rich person.

When they heard the news, they grew even more draw in and frighteningly quiet. Their old foster parent was overjoyed to get rid of them which only made them more fearful for what was to come, terrified of what their new parent owner would do to them.

They arrived at the new house and were in awe of how grand it was. Every crevice of the exterior was fully decorated to display their wealth. But, the only thing it could make the teen think of was how much worse they would be hurt here.

They heard footsteps approaching and immediately directed their head downward, trying to radiate submission and not wanting to anger their new owner.

The footsteps got closer and they hunched in further as their heart rate sped up, until finally two feet stopped in front of them. They held their breath for a moment, waiting for something to happen, a word, and order, a sigh, a kick or a slap even. A hand suddenly came into their view and they held back a flinch, but it just slowly rose until it gently met their cheek.

"Hi." A soft voice said.

Their heart jumped and they widened their eyes. That voice was smoother than anything they'd heard before.

"Can I see your face?"

The teen blinked dumbly for a moment, then registered they were being spoken to, not spoken at and had to hold back a jump at the unfamiliarity of the question. Why would they ask me-

"What's your name, love?"

The teen realized too late that they'd taken too long to respond, lost in their own worries and thoughts. They quivered slightly at the consequences of ignoring their owner and being reproached already, but..

'Love...'

"W-Whumpee..." The teen whispered quietly, lowering their eyes and wishing they could curl in on themself and become smaller. They couldn't ignore a direct question, but were terrified knowing talking was a sure way to get into trouble. But the hand that was still on their face wasn't letting them escape.

Against their expectations, they weren't scorned or spit at for saying their name. Instead they heard a light response.

"Hello, Whumpee," They could almost hear the smile (smile?) in the voice, "My name is Caretaker."

"Would you look at me, dear?"

Their breath caught and their eyes darted around as their brain hastened to find the right thing to say. They couldn't in good conscience look their owner in the eye but the certainly couldn't disobey an order. Amidst their wrestling, they must have absently nodded their head because, to their terror, the hand on their cheek started raising their face.

Their breathing picked up but there was nothing they could do except let it happen until they were finally face to face with the person who would control their fate for the foreseeable future. They expected to see a harsh, stony face to match their status, but instead were met with overwhelming calm, a warm aura, and a tender charm that made them want to melt. Caretaker oozed control and confidence, and the teen could tell they held a lot of power; they held themself high, were dressed in sophisticated clothing, and Whumpee had to crane their neck to meet their gaze. And yet, there was a soft feeling about them and their face was filled with kindness.

"Thank you." Caretaker smiled with squinty eyes that reminded them of the little kids at the orphan home.

The teen had never been more confused, afraid, and in the presence of such serenity all at once.

[whumble-beeee]

Whumptober 2024 | Day 10 | The Bee's Whumptober Masterlist

What Happens When You Give a Tween The Power to Wreck Some Shit

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

Whumptober: BLOW TO THE HEAD | Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

CW: minor whumpee (13yo, dw things work out tho), female whumpee, male whumper, knives

* * * * * * * *

“Hey there, little lady.”

Chloe flinched violently and spun around to face the voice, chin held high, eyes blazing. Anyone who dared approach a girl– WOMAN, she reminded herself– as young as her and talk to them like this late at night in a place like… well, here, a half-abandoned side street– couldn’t be up to any good.

Unfortunately, her fears turned out to be founded as soon as she took in the profile of the voice. An adult man. Quite a bit taller than her, not exactly stacked but not a lanky little man either, with the sharp of a nasty looking knife pointed directly at her face.

His eyes glinted as she clenched her fists at him and tried to calm the stuttering in her chest, tried to come out of the shaking spiral and the tunnel vision and deep breathing she'd been doing right before he announced himself. 

…Okay, so she may not have been paying attention to her surroundings. At all. In a bad part of town. At night. But Marcus was pissing her off saying it wasn't her fault that she couldn't have saved Stan earlier, so… she ran. And he called after her, but she slammed him back with her power, and she kept running.

And he didn't catch her.

So this was all his fault, really…

Nevertheless, she glared at her assailant. And his knife. “I wouldn't, if I were you,” she hissed, lowering her voice as intimidating as she possibly could, ignoring the way her heart skipped a beat and the pang of fear weaving it's way through her stomach. She tried to discreetly wipe away the wetness running down her cheeks. 

The man just laughed.

“Oh, don't worry your pretty little head about it, I don't want to do any of uh…” he glanced up and down the entirety of Chloe's body. “That. Lucky you. Just hand over your wallet. Or any other valuables, really, pretty girl like you looks like she’s got loads of daddy’s money. Sure you could spare a couple hundred.”

She could lay this clown out on the pavement right here and now, if she wanted to. But never ever use your powers on someone unless it is life or death. Never let anyone know you have a power, never put yourself in a situation where you'd need to even use your powers, unless you want to end up like Mom and Dad. And me. 

Yeah, Stan. She knew. And he didn't listen to his own advice, and now he was captured again too…

Chloe pursed her lips with a huff at the thought, and tried to shove past the robber, but he moved in front of her, blocking her way. She tried again, blocked again, pushed back, attempted sidestep turned stumble back as she tried to keep away from the man and the glinting knife in a horrid dance of rising adrenaline and growing nerves. Before she knew it, he had flanked her, cornering her with her back to a dark alley. 

She bared her teeth at him. “Fuck you! Get out of my way!”

“Woah, now,” his easy smile disappeared, head tilting at her with narrowed eyes. “Didn’t they teach you that sharing is caring when you were at kindergarten today?”

“I'm not– Get away from me or you’ll regret it,” Chloe spat back. Her muscles shook with the tension, and for a moment she could swear she saw red. You could crush this idiot without thought. 

But don't.

“Just give me the money and I will. I know your brain’s not fully developed, but it really is that simple. Plus I really don’t want to hurt a preschooler if I don’t have to.” 

“I’M NOT A PRESCHOOLER!” she shouted, throwing clenched fists out behind her, throwing her full body into yelling at the man, making herself look bigger, trying to make him leave her alone.

The man clenched his jaw at the ferocity of her words, amusement giving way to slight anger before his gaze settled on her angry fists and transformed his demeanor entirely into one of shock and disbelief.

“You–...” he panted, eyes flicking up and down her form again. “You're glowing.”

NO.

Chloe's face went white as she tore her gaze downward and only now noticed the powerful blue glow. It extinguished immediately and she stumbled backward, back hitting the wall of the alleyway with a slight oomph and nearly making her scream.

“No, I’m not!”

 But it was too late. 

You need to learn to control your powers. Yes, Stan, she knew! So why did he get captured before he could teach her everything?!

Tears pricked at her eyes.

Why did he have to get captured? She wouldn't be here if he weren't captured, she just wanted her big brother–

“You have powers." The man's extraordinary observation skills ripped her back to the present. "Holy shit, man, that’s…”

Then his gaze settled to her elbow. Where a hero brand would be, if she had one. Oh no. She grabbed at clutched at the exposed skin of her elbow and held it behind her, taking a defensive position, teeth bared. “Yeah, I have powers. Now let me go before I decide to use them on you.”

“Use them on me?” He scoffed. “How old are you again?”

“None of your beeswax!”

“Because if you're too young to have the brand…” a hunger glinted in his eyes. “Oh, this changes things.”

“What–?”

“Do you know how much money a little super without a marking could be worth?! We could wait a bit, turn you in for evading, or– God, I know some people who would go crazy–”

Life or death.

Run.

She sprinted, screaming as loud as she could, straight past him, ran, she needed help, she needed Marcus, she needed Stan she needed help someone to help her anyone she didn't want to be kidnapped–

The back of her shirt caught and yanked her fully back–

“NO STAN HELP–!”

– choking her briefly before slamming her right back into the alleyway wall. The air knocked out of her lungs, and yet she still struggled against the fist curled and pinning the fabric of her shirt against the wall. That is, until she felt the sharp tip of the knife pressing into her stomach. And she froze, staring up into her assailant's eyes.

Life or death.

Life or death??

“LET ME GO!!” she screeched in a blind panic, squirming and kicking and screaming until the man let go of her shirt to slap his hand over her mouth instead, and even then she didn't stop.

“Quiet down, now, unless you want a new hole in your goddamn stomach,” he hissed, pressing the knife even harder against her, the deadly edge painfully close to breaking fabric and flesh. The world around her blurred, a sort of blue lightning crackling up inside of her, overtaking her entire body. “I’m not gonna be outsmarted by some kid. I know if your power were actually useful, you’d’ve used it by now. Which means It’s all the better for a show. So you’re not getting away because you're a tiny as shit preteen who will do whatever I say because I can and will do whatever the fuck I want to you–”

LIFE OR DEATH!!

A flash of bright blue light filled the dingy alley. As Chloe's powers concentrated in her hands, then threw out and created a force strong enough to slam the head of the man attacking her to the side.

THUNK!!

The man shuddered and lurched backward. The knife dropped away from her stomach, leaving a small hole in the shirt where it had almost bore into her. And the hand finally fell away, but suddenly she didn't feel the need to scream.

On the contrary. She stared frozen at his zombie-esque form as he staggered and fell to his knees, muttering incoherently, looking at her with angry, unseeing eyes and shaking body.

Then pause.

Then he collapsed the the ground in a shuddering heap, muttering nonsense.

She stared.

She did that.

Her power did that.

She did that.

Oh crap, she did that…

Adrenaline dumped into her system, and she sprinted off into the night.

* * * * * * * *

This drabble is apart of the (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping universe!

Whumptober Taglist: @whumperofworlds | @whumptober-archive | @regular-whump-sfx

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ── | “Proud” | ── *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Characters // Atlas (he/him), Cato (she/her)

TW: Death, descriptions of violence

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

Atlas was six-years-old when he killed for the first time. 

His hands shook as he walked into the brightly-lit arena. It expanded out in front of him, lights blinding him as he stepped out of the shadows, his one solace through it all. The room was wide and circular; the ground uneven and jagged, smeared with dirt, grime, and deep crimson stains that were too familiar for Atlas’ liking. Tall pillars lined the two entrances that were opposite to each other, shadows masking the other trainees that were all waiting in an orderly row for their turn. The walls were made out of a similar jagged rock material that the floor was, the same dark red splatters marring the surface. Reaching high up near the domed ceiling was the only window in the room: a dark, tinted glass with splatters of blood near the rim, showcasing a group of shadowy figures that Atlas knew belonged to the generals and other high-ranking officers, overseeing training. 

He could feel their gazes burning into the side of his head. They were piercing into him; calculating, scanning, scrutinizing. Picking out his worst insecurities, his weaknesses. Analyzing his every movement. He pulled his shoulders back, tipping his head up high, straightening his back. That’s what he was supposed to do. Make yourself look confident. Make yourself look strong. Capable. 

But despite the words repeating in his head, he didn’t feel strong. His entire body was shivering, and he knew it wasn’t just from the bite of the cool air. No, he felt…. He felt scared. 

He didn’t like it down here. He really, really didn’t like it down here. He had never even been to the lower levels of the warehouse before. He was never allowed. He had been at Eden for a few months already, but in all his time here, he hadn’t been around more than two or three people. They were all nice. They gave him whatever he wanted: food, snacks, blankets, books. Atlas didn’t understand any of the words, but he liked feeling the pages while the grown-ups did their work. Some of the books had a rough, almost scratchy feel to it, while others were shiny and sleek. Feeling along the material of the pages would entertain Atlas for days. 

Everything inside Eden had seemed like that — with the bright lights, sparkling clean metal surfaces everywhere he looked, and long, winding hallways that went on forever; everything was so new and fresh and awesome. Not at all like before. Here he had a bed and fresh food and anything he could ever want. He was warm and cared for and safe. 

Safe. 

He repeated the word like a mantra, mouthing it silently to himself, as he stepped fully into the arena. He was safe. Even with the scary commanding officers glaring down at him, and the dark, coldness of the room, and the hushed whispers of the others behind him, like pricks against his neck, he was still safe. Eden would always be safe. They were kind. They would never hurt him. 

From across the room, his opponent appeared, slow and careful. It was a girl, small as him, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, fair like wheat, skin pale and marked by freckles. In her hands she carried a long metal rod with two blades attached to the tips. Atlas wasn’t sure what it was called. The training officer had listed the names of each of the weapons they would be supplied during each of their training sessions, and he’d tried so hard to memorize them like he was supposed to, but now for some reason, his usually excellent memory was failing him. The blade in his hands shook, his grip unsteady. What was it called? A…. danger? No, that wasn’t right. A da— 

Dagger, a voice in the back of his mind supplied helpfully. Right. That’s what it was. A dagger. 

He dug his fingernails tighter around the dagger, taking short, even breaths to calm himself. Like he had been taught. Training was simple. This wasn’t scary. This was going to be fine. He just had to do what he was told. He could do that, he could do that just fine. 

Just do as you are told. 

The girl from across him watched him warily, not yet moving from the edge of the entrance. The weapon looked to be far too big and heavy for her tiny hands; she had her weapon lowered to the ground, arms tired. Not like Atlas, his small dagger light and fitting perfectly in his palms — almost like it was meant to be there. He planted his feet, holding it in front of him stiffly, fear still coursing through his veins no matter how much he told himself this was all safe. 

The two of them seemed to be locked in some sort of silent standoff, both waiting for the other to make the first move, and both too stubborn to cave. The seconds ticked by slow as ever, as both stared each other down, still not daring to go. The girl dug her feet into the uneven ground, narrowing her brows at him. She was almost taunting him now, giving an unspoken, come and get me. Atlas shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes glancing momentarily to where all the officers stood, still observing. Should he attack…? Making the first move was scary; they were far apart, she’d have more time to come up with a plan. But, with her planted stance, Atlas also noticed that her weapon was now wedged in between her feet, too heavy for her to hold any longer. 

Now’s your chance, her voice echoed in his head. Take it. 

Holding the dagger close to his side, he charged. 

His mind was a whirlwind of rapid, panicked thoughts as he closed the distance between him and his opponent. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing, if this was what he was supposed to be doing, but there was no turning back now. 

Listen to your gut. He could hear her in the back of his mind, guiding him through it all, and that was all he needed. Just do as she would. Do as she would, and he’d be safe. He’d win. 

The girl’s eyes widened at the sight of her opponent barreling towards her and she sloppily tried to pull up her weapon again, but Atlas was too fast. He kicked at her, foot knocking loose the weapon from her hands, sending it flying to the side. It clattered to the ground, rolling away from her reach. She turned towards it, moving to retrieve it, and Atlas took advantage of the distraction. He lashed out, grabbing her by her ponytail and tugging her back. She tumbled down and he jumped on top of her, digging his fingers into her hair and tugging, thick chunks coming loose, spilling out around them. She screamed in pain, writhing to get out of his hold, but even then he did not let up. He brought a fist down, just like he’d been taught, whacking her hard against the side of the head. Then again. And again. And again. His knuckles were hurting now, little spasms of pain shooting through his hand for every hit, but he didn’t care.

Don’t hesitate. Finish the job. 

He brought his arm up again, his fingers tightening around the dagger, raising it high into the air. 

He slammed the dagger down fast. 

And just like that, in only mere seconds, it was over. The blade stabbed into the girl’s neck and at once all her attempts to get away from him were gone. The hands clawing at his arms fell limp, her mouth parting into a wide, shocked “O” as she gasped. Her eyes bulged, as big as saucers, as if they were trying to pop out of her head. Tears that Atlas had not been able to notice in the struggle streamed down her face, trickling down to sides of her cheeks. Her desperate, darting gaze locked on his, and for a moment, it was as if she and Atlas were the only people in the room. For a moment, it was as if the officers were not still glaring into them, ready to punish any misbehaviour, as if the others weren’t gathered in the darkness, leaning forwards in wonder at the sight in front of them, whispering and trembling. It was as if, for a second, it was just him and the girl with big, round blue eyes, lying on the ground, and nothing else mattered. For a second, there was only them. 

The moment ended just as fast as it had came. 

Atlas ripped the dagger from out of her neck, the action sharp and intense, just like he’d been taught. The girl made a deep, horrific gurgling sound from the back of her throat, blood bubbling between her lips, as a stream of red shot up from where the knife had been only a second ago, splattering against Atlas in a harsh gush. 

Atlas yelped, scrambling back off of her in a frenzy. His heart beat fast in his chest, so hard he was sure it was going to leap out of his own skin. Blood rushed in his ears, loud and disorienting. The dagger fell from his grasp, skittering across the ground with an awful screeching noise. He scrubbed at his face, eyes darting around wildly, searching for the one person he had been most desperate to please. Did I do it right? Did I do it like I was supposed to?

There was no one there. No one, besides the hundreds of eyes burning into his skin, trapping him in place. No, no, no. He didn’t like this. Wasn’t he supposed to like this? Why didn’t he like this? Where was… Where was she? He needed her. He needed her to tell him he did it right. He needed her to reassure him. He needed her to tell him he was safe. That this was good. He needed—

The girl wasn’t getting up. She wasn’t moving at all. The bright red fountain of liquid was spilling from her neck, staining everything in sight, and she was twitching, making these horrible, terrible, groaning sounds, but she was not getting up. She was not getting up. Why wasn’t she getting up? 

Atlas choked, taking spluttering, gasping breaths. This was all wrong. This was all wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Why wasn’t she getting up? She was supposed to get up. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all. He wanted to go upstairs, he wanted to go back to his room. He liked his bed. He liked sleeping in it. He liked the long winding hallways that he could run down as much as he wanted. He liked the smiling grown-ups. He liked going on walks. He liked how shiny and clean everything was. He liked his new books.  

He did not like this. 

The red stuff was sticking to him. His face, his hands, his clothes. It was all over. No, no, no. He didn’t want to do this anymore. He didn’t want to. He clawed at his skin, desperately trying to get it off. Get off. He needed it off, right now. He didn’t want to do this. He wanted to go back. He wanted—

Sudden hands gripped him, spinning him around and tearing his gaze away from the twitching girl on the ground. He made a desperate attempt to shove them away, to wriggle free and run — he needed to run, run back to safety — but the hands only held him tighter. 

“Atlas,” a voice breathed, soft and careful. He found himself staring at not the foreign face of one of the training officers, but instead the smiling face of a woman with mismatching eyes, one a dark, smooth brown, and one the palest, icy blue Atlas had ever seen, starkly contrasting against the other. 

Cato. 

It was only Cato. 

Cato was safe. Everything was going to be okay. Cato was here. Cato would never hurt him. 

“Atlas,” she said, voice even and gentle. “Oh, Atlas.” 

He gasped for air, grunting and wheezing as the words he wished he could tell her failed to form. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again, and still as he willed himself to speak, nothing could come out. 

This is all wrong, he wanted to scream. This was all very wrong. He didn’t want to do this anymore. He didn’t want to be down here. He didn’t like this. There was red stuff on him and a twitching girl on the ground and everyone was watching him—

Cato pushed down his flailing arms, moving to cup his face, turning it away again from the body on the ground, forcing him to stare into her eyes. He had thought they were scary, at first — the harsh, coldness of the blue, so unnatural — but right now, nothing had ever felt more soothing. It was familiar, something that dulled the panic of his mind, for only a second. Something he could rely on, pushing away the bad thoughts. 

“Oh Atlas,” Cato whispered, her eyes bright with excitement, thumb rubbing calming circles along his cheek, smearing the blood there. “Atlas, you were magnificent.” 

Magnificent. He hadn’t heard that word before. Was this good? Did he do good? Was this what she had wanted?

“That was wonderful, Atlas, truly wonderful.” She said, continuing with a tone of such reverence that stopped Atlas short in his panic, despite not knowing what exactly those words meant.

“Wuh…” He mumbled. “W—“ 

Cato smoothed down his red-streaked hair. “Yes, wonderful. That means good. Oh Atlas, you did so good.” She fixed him with the widest smile he had ever seen, and suddenly, the twitching girl on the ground didn’t seem to matter anymore. Nor did the officers still watching over him, or the kids gathered in a row at each entrance. No, only Cato. 

He did good. He was good. 

“You’re even better than I thought.” Cato said in the same hushed voice, talking faster than she ever had before, eyes still shining bright in a way that made the fear fluttering inside Atlas’ stomach dissipate. “You’re… you’re a natural. Oh Atlas, this is perfect. You’re truly perfect.” 

She brushed the bangs out of his face, smiling warmly at him. Her face was only inches away now, so close that Atlas may have once flinched and ran free. But not now, not with the look on Cato’s face, so fond and tender. “I’m so proud of you, Atlas.” 

She pulled him into a tight embrace, and Atlas let himself be held tight, his face pressed into her shoulder. He brought his arms up, wrapping around her, his crimson-coated, trembling hands holding onto her with all their might. Proud. He’d made her proud. 

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

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[rosieposey-torturedpoet]

"Why, on EARTH: did you try that. That was the most dangerous stunt I think I've ever seen you pull. It was arrogant and stupid-"

"Yeah, but it worked! Didn't it? I got the mission done."

"Whumpee, that is not. the. point. It was dangerous and directly against orders!" Caretaker clenched her fist, Whumpee was the most stress inducing person on the team, who never seemed to understand that there were consequences to her actions, "Do you realize how hurt you could've been? That could've killed you!"

"Well, it didn't!" Whumpee was also the youngest, the boldest, the most reckless one on the team: and in her defense, often made her one of the stronger ones. Being agile and fast, made her a slippery target and even harder to fight. But that doesn't make her immune, "This is not that big of a deal!"

Caretaker felt a spark of fury, "Not a BIG DEAL?!" She felt the need to puke, she wanted to take Whumpee by the sides of her face and just shake her, yell, scream, or something just to get it through her thick head. It was scarily frustrating, knowing how unsafe Whumpee was with herself and Caretaker was just exhausted. "DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT DEATH IS?? It's PERMANENT. FINAL." Caretaker could feel the tears start to pool, "Whumpee. I CAN'T SAVE YOU FROM DEATH. When you are DEAD. You are GONE. AND I CAN'T SAVE YOU."

Caretaker sunk down to her knees, sobbing. She just couldn't do it anymore, she was just so scared. Watching Whumpee nearly avoid death, day in and day out: it was ruining her. She is so sick and tired of being scared everytime a mission happens because she knows that Whumpee will probably be the one to get hurt, the one who will be targeted, the one that she will have to save. Whumpee was so young, she was sweet and the heart and soul of the team, Caretaker has seen her unconscious or bleeding out 10 times more than she's seen anyone else. It impresses her that such a small body can hold and loose that much blood: yet here, Whumpee stands, continuing to fight and loose. And Caretaker couldn't do it anymore. She just needs her to realize what is actually at stake when she rushes into a fight, or takes on people twice her size.

----------------------------------------------------------

Whumpee stood there a moment, bewildered. Whumpee never meant to stress anyone out, especially not scare them. She didn't realize Caretaker actually cared that much. After a few moments of utter surprise and standing there just watching like a dope; Whumpee finally crouched by Caretaker, who was now hyperventilating.

"Hey, Hey. Listen, listen to me. I'm alright, okay?" Grabbing Caretaker's hand, she placed it right over her heart, "See? I'm still here, I'm alive and breathing. It's alright!"

"No-no no no." Caretaker choked out, "I know you are! I, I already know you're alive now! But I can't guarantee.. I don't know if you'll survive another mission. I just don't know! What if, what if I can't save you one day?!"

"That's never gonna happen!! You always save me, everytime." Whumpee could feel her tears start to form, "I really, really, don't mean to scare you. Honestly!" Whumpee let out a small laugh

"No, you just need to know, you aren't the only one affected by your risks, by your life! Whumpee, you might not realize this, but you aren't just some pawn! If you die?! We can't just replace you!" Caretaker had calmed down and was now looking Whumpee straight in the eye

"That's..I don't..." Whumpee eventually stammered out, "I'm sorry."

Caretaker threw her arms around Whumpee and whispered in her ear, "Just promise me, that you'll be more careful."

Whumpee snuggled up closer to Caretaker, "I promise."

[clickerflight]

Voltober 18. Come Sweet Death - Sonder story

Author's Note: Another bit from Sonder Story with @writing-whump Is a very good time! This actually takes place before our writing starts. This is a part of Cody's backstory.

Masterlist - Voltober 17

Content: wolf whumpee, wolf whumper, minor whumpee, fear, 3/4ths of a death wish, execution, eviscerated, kind of sort or hospital whump if you squint at it

@voltober

Bleeding Out | Near Death Experience | Death Wish/Self Sacrifice

Cody sat shivering in a holding cell at the precinct. He rubbed at the terrible bruise forming on his arm where the chemicals in the dart used to subdue him interacted badly with his blood vessels. It reacted badly in all of him, actually. He was exhausted, he couldn’t stop tearing up, and he had thrown up everything he’d tried to eat in the last four hours.

He sat against the cold wall, pulling his knees to his chest and ignoring the chatter coming from the other cell. There were more people in there, all human. Wolves got their own cell, so they didn’t kill anyone if they decided to act up.

The silver bars radiated cold that Cody tried to get as far away from as possible. It was making him feel even sicker on top of the dart that had forcibly crushed his shadow.

He wished he could go back to this morning and warn himself of what he would be going through. To tell him to have a bit more restraint, to just never leave his room in the first place. All he wanted was a bit of sun and fresh air. He slipped out, but the twins noticed and they followed him to the local park, laughing and jeering as they followed him, never catching up to him but never far enough away to ignore.

When he had sighed and turned to face them, they got in his personal space, mocking him and his weak control over his shadow, pushing him around.

Cody wrapped his arms around his knees tighter when the words they said rang in his head. “Awww, are you gonna cry to your family pack? Oh, that’s right! You don’t have one! You’re lucky we agreed to have you here. You know wolves like you get killed just because they can’t control their shadows, right? Bet you’ll be gone within the year. What do you want us to bring to the funeral?”

Cody trembled. It was true. He’d only survived this long because of leaders who rolled his shadow down so the assessors wouldn’t realize how little control he had as a wolf. He had cheated the system to keep living, and it had come back to bite him. He had lost control there in the park, in public. He’d fought the twins and hadn’t been able to calm down until the police got there, called by the terrified humans.

And now he was here, waiting quietly after getting his mugshot and fingerprints taken, hoping the leader of the pack his social worker had placed him in would come to get him. At the same time, he almost hoped Kai would just leave him here forever. He was terrified of what the punishment would be for this. Wolves were only allowed to live with humans in cities based on how well they could control their own people in the packs. Cody losing it in public like that was a strike against wolves as a whole.

What if Kai killed him for it? Cody didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to think that the culmination of his life was just to be lonely, to suffer, and then to die because no wolf spent enough time or energy on him to teach him how to be a wolf himself.

No one would even care if he died. Or, if they did, they would be glad it finally happened.

Cody whimpered, burying his face in his knees, tears welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t take this anymore. Maybe he would be happier if he was dead. Somehow, he couldn’t really believe that.

He looked up as he heard footsteps in the hall, recognizing one of the pairs of steps at Kai’s.

He stood up, staring at the floor as the leader of the pack appeared, two police officers just ahead of him.

One of them unlocked the door and said, “We usually leave this sort of decision up to the packs, but you might want to make some serious decisions about this one. I haven’t seen a pup go so crazy in public like that before. You might want to get him checked for madness.”

“Oh, I will make certain he is handled,” Kai said, his shadow spilling into the cell and hanging threatening around Cody’s feet.

Cody silently stepped forward, trembling. The cops spoke with Kai for a moment before Kai left, his shadow hanging around Cody like an escort.

Cody swallowed hard, trying to keep his breathing soft and careful as tears spilled down his cheeks. He was so scared. He was so scared and he had no idea how to get out of this situation. He just wanted this all to be over, however it ended.

It was dark outside, and rainy.

Kai flipped up his collar against the rain while Cody could only fold his arms as the freezing rain soaked into his t-shirt.

Kai didn’t speak as he walked through the quiet city, the unaffiliated street wolves shying away from his commanding shadow.

Cody could only follow, the rain replacing his tears as a strange sort of numbness descending over him. Emotional exhaustion was familiar to him at this point, and he welcomed it to protect him from whatever came next.

Kai stopped by an alley and gestured for Cody to go down it.

Cody hesitated for a moment too long and Kai grabbed his arm and shoved him down the alley, following him in.

“Do you take me for a fool, pup? We take you in after every other pack in the area kicked you out, and you do this!? Do you know how bad this makes us look!?”

Cody was barely listening, but he nodded anyway.

“It is a wonder that you haven’t been executed before now,” Kai snarled, taking a step forward and backing Cody against the brick wall. “I think it’s about time I do everyone a favor.”

He grabbed Cody by the throat, lifting up against the bricks.

The numbness was gone as quickly as a startled hummingbird. Cody gagged for air, grabbing onto Kai’s wrist and kicking his legs. He was going to die! Kai was going to kill him! Cody tried to beg, but didn’t have enough air to do so.

“What a waste of time an energy on all of our parts,” Kai growled. “Goodbye, pup.”

Kai’s shadow seemed to fill the entirety of the world and pain exploded from Cody’s stomach.

Kai dropped him to the ground, staring down at Cody as the huge gaping wound in his stomach spilled out blood to mix with the rain.

Cody reached his hand out after Kai as the pack leader turned and left him to bleed out.

Cody keened, reaching down to the wound, only to touch things that were never meant to be touched by his own fingers.

He gasped and tried not to gag, afraid that more of his organs would try and come out if he did so.

He realized too late that he wasn’t breathing as stars started around his vision, the edges darkening, and when he tried to get air in, the pain that lanced through his body forced him to shut down.

………………………..

He never expected to wake up, but he did. He woke in a hospital, his stomach sewed up, his organs where they rightly belonged, and wrapped in blankets that only seemed to emphasize how cold he was.

A nurse smiled kindly at him. “Good morning. How are you feeling.”

Cody stared at her before trying to sit up more against the pillows, stopping when his wrists caught on something. He looked down numbly at the straps around his wrists and the nurse tutted. “Sorry dear. Sometimes when wolves wake up it can get kind of scary so we have to be careful. Let me take those off for you.”

She reached over him, careful not to touch him, and undid one cuff, then they other. “I was just checking on you, but I can go get you something if you need. Are you thirsty?”

Cody stared up at her and nodded faintly, folding his hands together.

“Alright. I’ll be right back.”

The nurse left him alone in the hospital bed, after nearly dying. He turned his head and closed his eyes, lifting a hand to cover his face as he started to cry.

VTB Part 19

@percy-frayer because I know you are curious about Sonder story

[unforgivenn]

CALEB AND DOMINIC MASTERLIST

^Caleb is the dark haired one and Dominic is the ginger haired one^

Taglist: @miireux134 @someoneoninternettt @nuriiz134 @anutz123434 @ash-reh

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @animesfortoday @noeul-whumpppssssss1234 (let me know if you want to be added or removed ^^)

~Under the weather

~ Carried

~Threat

~At weapon's point

~Caught

~Plead

~Heat

~Took a tumble

~The endless nightmare

~The endless nightmare - 2

~All in vain

~Asks~

Caleb, When was the last time you laughed?

Dominic, Do you have any pet peeves?

Dominic's favorite tool/ instrument?

Be honest: did you deserve it?

do you have any rules?

does something hurt right now? what is it?

do you have any triggers?

have you ever killed? would you?

Masterlist is constantly updated

Reblogs are always appreciated <3

[pigeonwhumps]

Sleeping

Sanctuary masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @mirasmirages @flowersarefreetherapy @whumpinggrounds @cepheusgalaxy

@painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump @augusnippets

Augusnippets day 31: free day

While Anita's asleep in a hospital bed, Indira worries at her bedside. Almost immediately post-Anita's rape.

435 words

CWs: mentioned rape, minor whumpee (Anita's 15), hospital setting, grandparent caretaker

Of all the things Indira was worried might happen when she first realised she was going to end up raising a teenager alone, this wasn't one of them.

That's all she can think about as she watches Anita's chest rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall.

Her granddaughter looks small against the white fabric of the hospital bed, the trailing IVs and monitor leads, the beeping and rustling and quiet hospital bustle. She lies still and unmoving beneath the blanket, face swollen, hair matted.

The worst abuses lie where Indira can't see. Under the blanket and gown and bandages, inside her mind.

She couldn't protect her. She couldn't protect her only grandchild. Anita's already suffered so much, and she still can't protect her from the worst of humanity.

Anita's only asleep. Indira's seen her awake already. She almost wishes she hadn't, seeing the raw fear and anguish in her eyes, the humiliation and pain. She feels guilty but who wants to see their child like that?

She wasn't there in the ambulance. She wishes she had been. She's glad she wasn't.

She arrived in time for the rape kit though.

She watches her daughter. Peacefully asleep, Indira could almost pretend to herself that everything's going to be okay.

Almost.

If it wasn't for the swelling and the bruises appearing, and the medical equipment attached to her. Indira knows that the only reason she's sleeping so peacefully now is because she's passed out from the stress. She's probably too tired to dream. Tomorrow won't be pleasant.

Will it be pleasant again? She was a nurse, she knows people recover, but looking at Anita, her only grandchild, lying in this bed after one of the most horrific violations she could have experienced, it's hard to remember.

She needs to call Carla. She promised Anita she would, or ask an interpreter to. But she... she can't tear her eyes away from her granddaughter.

She should call Carla.

Suddenly, Anita sits up, eyes blank, and screams.

Indira pushes the call button and grabs her by the shoulders, pulling her into a careful hug.

"Hush. Hush, you're safe."

Anita shifts violently and for a moment Indira worries she's going to push her away (she wouldn't blame her if she did) but then her hands come up and fist in Indira's sari, almost tight enough to tear it.

"Paati?"

"It's me."

Anita sobs. Great, rasping sobs that tear Indira's heart out with every one. She clings on like she hasn't in years, a small child again.

"You're safe," Indira murmurs, rubbing her back, and desperately hopes that it's true.

[whumpsmith-participates]

Medwhump May 2024

Day 1 - Under Anaesthesia / Dislocation

TW: minor whumpee (16), organ theft, blood, strong language, verbally abusive whumper, physically abusive whumper, toxic familial relationship, tobacco

@medwhumpmay

Erick liked to think he was accustomed to pain. Living with someone who lashes out over the smallest things or locks you in the kitchen pantry for fun tends to do that to you. But hey, it could've been worse. He knew damn well what his short-fused caretaker saved him from, so he kept his head down, did what he was told, and tried not to complain. Though, sometimes, that still wasn't enough.

Fetch was a large man. Tall, well-built, with a decent exercise regime of carrying kidnapping victims or pushing Erick around to do the heavy-lifting for him. He was a doctor, once upon a time, still considered himself one. Not having a license to practice due to one misplaced liver was just a minor technicality if you asked him. And it certainly didn't stop him from misplacing even more organs...for the right price.

It also made him feel less guilty (read: not at all) about the way he treated Erick. He was more than willing to admit that he could go a little far sometimes, but the kid had nothing to complain about. He always patched him up afterwards. In fact, he should be grateful that Fetch not only could patch him up, but always did so. No matter how he got injured. It usually was his own fault, after all. If he didn't want to get hurt, he shouldn't have mouthed off.

Today was no different. Fetch had picked up a relatively simple job. All he needed was a kidney, and all he needed to get that kidney, was for Erick to get some more ice from the motel's ice machine. But he had the fucking nerve to complain about it.

"Even more?" he asked.

Fetch rolled his eyes, getting up from the bathroom floor and wiping his hands on a towel, leaving the white fabric stained red. Erick already knew he had messed up, quickly getting up from the bed and heading for the door with the empty bucket.

"I'm going, I'm going!" he said.

Fetch wasn't having it, following him outside and catching him at the top of the staircase, grabbing a hold of his shirt as he yanked him back and forced him to face him.

"You have one job!" Fetch hissed, "and that is to follow orders! You don't know how much ice I need, so who the fuck do you think you are to question me?"

"I-I'm sorry, sir—"

"Shut up, and get me the fucking ice!" Fetch hissed, before pushing him away as he let go.

Erick tried to catch himself, but the floor behind him abruptly stopped and he tumbled down the stairs. It could be worse, he'd probably feel it in the morning, he thought, until he tried to catch himself on the pavement at the end of the stairs. First it was the scrape on his palm that bothered him, that first burning sting of freshly broken skin. Then he tried to pick himself up, and he felt the most immense pain in his shoulder, spreading throughout his arm. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying out, letting out the most pathetic whimper instead.

Fetch cursed as he realised what he'd done. Great, now he probably had to get his own ice. With a sigh, he first pulled a pack of marlboro red from his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and clenching it between his lips as he searched his other pocket for his lighter.

Erick choked out a sob as he watched Fetch's face light up from the small flame that ignited his cigarette, trying to at least sit up while Fetch slowly made his way down the stairs. But the pain made it hard to move. He tried holding his shoulder, but that just made it worse. He tried supporting his arm, but that also made it worse. Everything he tried just fucking hurt.

"Don't tell me you broke something, I don't got fuckin' time for that," Fetch said, having reached the bottom of the stairs.

"I-I don't know," Erick said, trying not to cry. Fetch ignored him, though. Picking up the bucket he dropped and going to get his ice first.

Erick tried to sit up again in the meantime, alternating between holding his breath to stop himself from crying out and gasping for air, the occasional sob escaping along with some breaths. He finally managed, scooting backwards slowly to rest his back against the stair railing, while his injured arm dragged uselessly over the floor.

"Figured it out yet?"

Erick looked up. Fetch had returned with the ice, taking a drag from his cigarette as he towered over the teen.

"I-I can't move my arm," Erick said.

"Great," Fetch grumbled, crouching down and putting a hand over the teen's mouth. Erick was a bit confused as to why he started with that, until he also grabbed his injured arm and moved across his chest. Erick yelped, the sound muffled behind Fetch's hand.

"Hold it like that," Fetch ordered, "keep it across your chest like that, with your other hand under your elbow— That's it."

He carefully lowered his hand, making sure the teen would stay quiet, before grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling him to his feet, nudging him to get back upstairs while he picked up his bucket of ice and followed closely behind.

Erick stumbled back towards the motel room, waiting for Fetch to unlock the door and let him in. Then he sat down on the edge of one of the beds, holding his arm while Fetch finished up with his victim.

When he finally finished, he stepped out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on the towel again, before placing a coolbox on the dresser next to the TV. He glared down at Erick, not an ounce of pity on his face even though the teen was trembling from the pain at this point.

"Learned your lesson, kid?"

"Y-yes, sir," Erick just said.

Fetch seemed satisfied, putting the towel down and pulling a chair closer, pulling Erick's sleeve up to see how his arm was dislocated. A bruise was beginning to form around the joint, but other than that it didn't look too bad from what he could tell without an X-ray.

"Okay," he said, unbuckling his belt, "I'm gonna put it back into place, and it's going to hurt like a bitch, so bite down on this."

He pulled his belt off, and folded it a couple of times, holding it up so Erick could bite down on the leather, before bracing himself as Fetch grabbed his arm again.

We've all seen at least one scene in an emergency room, or even in the middle of anywhere, where dislocated shoulders are pushed back with a quick but very painful move, right? Well...Erick wasn't so lucky.

Fetch didn't pull hard enough on his first try, so all he really gained was to inflict more pain on Erick, who bit down as hard as he could on the belt, but he couldn't help but to cry out in pain a bit.

"Shut up!" Fetch just hissed, before trying again.

Erick really tried to stay quiet, but the pain was so bad it dizzied him. He even tried to just pull away and bury his face in the sheet to at least muffle his cries. It felt like Fetch was trying to rip his arm clean off, when suddenly he stopped.

"Breathe," he said, to which Erick realised he hadn't been breathing. He lifted up his head, gasping for air a bit, coughing as he accidentally breathed in some saliva. Fetch helped him sit up, giving him a second to calm down, before making him support his own arm again while he looked at his shoulder.

"It's back in," he said, "it'll be sore for a while. Keep supporting it. I'll get you a sling after I finish this job, okay?"

"O-okay," Erick said, "I-I'm sorry..."

"You're fine," Fetch said, "c'mon, let's get out of here before he wakes up. And before his kidneys expire, or I'll give them yours."

Erick nodded, taking another second to breathe before getting to his feet. While wondering how to carry his own backpack, Fetch already picked it up for him along with his other things, before holding the door open for him.

"Come on, we don't have all fucking day," he hissed impatiently, to which Erick quickly followed him out, briefly glancing back into the motel room over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the blood left on the bathtub through the open bathroom door.

So,,,if you haven't read Villian's View on DA, meet Fetch and Erick. I wanna try using them for all the prompts, but might change my mind later ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The rules didn't say a valid MD was required for this event, so I decided to grab my whumpiest doctor :3

Also immediately had to switch out with an alt prompt because frankly, I just have no clue about aneasthesia. Never been under it and dislocating something just drew my attention way mooore

ok rant over, thanks for reading!

Masterlist Main account

[the-baby-storyteller]

Cw: minor whumpee, mentioned abuse, fear, slave whump

Whumpee was used to being sold, but it didn’t make the process any easier.

They kept their head down in the back of the car, their wild heartbeat contrasting the tight way they held themself. They thought about who their next owner would be. They wondered if they might be...kind. A wishful thought, they knew. They weren't foolish, they knew they would take anything; they didn’t have a choice. They just hoped….

They just hoped they wouldn’t be as bad as their last owner.

A shudder ran through them. Whumpee didn't...they didn't know if they could deal with someone like that again. If they did they might...might...-

Stop that, they thought with a frown, mentally slapping themself.

They didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on the past. They had to focus on the now, focus all their attentions on making sure their new owner was satisfied with them. That meant looking appealing, pleasant, and not wholly petrified from the scars of their last owner.

So many scars.

They sighed and fought to quell their quivering. They just- they couldn't. They couldn't deal with another-

And then the car jerked to a stop.

Their heart jerked to a stop as well.

Get a hold of yourself, they seethed internally. They couldn't be trembling and whimpering over memories.

Even if those memories could become their reality again.

They plastered a smile on as the seller pulled them out of the car, roughly enough to be domineering but not enough to harm the merchandise. Not before the real buyers could anyway. It doesn't matter, they thought to themself.

This is who they were, this was their life, they thought as they walked to the door of the house. They were an object, an amenity. A thing to be sold and used as others pleased. They didn't get to decide what happened to them, and if someone wanted to hurt them and use them and shatter them until them-

Whumpee choked.

Until they were so terrified they cowered and begged and cried and they still would never stop?

They would take it. It was not their choice to make.

They realized their smile had dropped. They took a deep breath. They smiled. It was shakier then last time. It was best they were going to get.

They opened the door.

-

Inside was nice. It was a regular looking house. They never got any information about who they were going to beforehand, (obviously not, who would tell a thing like them anything of importance, they only deserved taunts and threats), so they had no idea what to expect. They didn't know how many people they would be serving, if it would be one person, a whole family.

Whumpee didn't need to know or be told. They would adapt to them or be made to adapt.

The only thing they knew was that they needed to keep smiling and looking pleasing, and that's what they did. They weren't new at this.

A man walked over to them. He didn't look especially high-class; he held himself loosely and his clothes looked vaguely old. His face seemed to be stuck in a permanent tired-bored look. He also didn't look especially interested in Whumpee.

That was very okay with them.

They knew never to get their hopes up, though. They dropped their head. No speaking unless spoken to.

"I expect," they heard his strangely laid-back voice from above them, "you to not ask questions and just do as you are told. Understand?"

"Y-Yes, Master," they answered.

"Good. I'm sure you have experience in this anyway. Now follow me."

"Yes, Master." They said briskly, immediately rising and hurrying to catch up with him as he started walking further into the house.

He showed them around the house, the rooms, the closets, all the places they would need to be for their chores. He got a little close sometimes and they cringed from fear of being hit, but it didn't seem like he noticed as he just continued on with the pseudo-tour.

He took them to the dining room where they saw a man (man? He kind of looked more like a boy) sitting at the table, distracted on his phone. He looked up when they arrived. It didn't matter his age, Whumpee thought, Another Master. they instinctively looked down.

"This is my younger cousin." Master said, "He's staying here for a week."

They tried for a smile, albeit a weak one, and bowed. "H-Hello, Master," They ground out.

The man boy master looked at them a little inquisitively, and they froze, frightened, but he just went back to his phone without saying a thing.

They held back a sigh as they moved on. That would not be welcome in front of their new Master.

Master took them to the back of the house and then down a few steps towards a door. He opened it and suddenly a gush a cold air rushed out.

"This is the basement." He said, walking in as Whumpee physically resisted shivering.

"It's where you will be staying." He pointed idly to a bell that seemed to connect outside the room. "Stay here unless we call for you with this bell or if it's time for you to clean or cook something." He looked them up and down, then left the room

"Y-Yes, Master." They rasped, quickly bowing. They stayed in that position, not looking up, until the door closed, and then sighed and sagged down to the floor.

Everything threatened to come out, then. Tears pricked their eyes and they began to tremble as they couldn't hold anything in anymore Memories of writhing on the floor in pain, starved and beaten, came to mind and they paled. They were just so, so scared. They couldn't stop thinking about pain and their past master and what would be done to them and what if they were just like him-

Whumpee grasped their arms, digging their fingernails into them until they were on the brink of bleeding. They took a deep breath. They were fine. It was fine. It was good to be scared. Slaves like them were meant to be scared, they were meant to live in fear. They should be afraid of their masters, of what they could do. It should make them that much more set on serving their masters and doing what they said. What they could not do was let it affect their work.

They were fine. And yet, they trembled.

They steeled themself, stood up, and started to muse as they walked, exploring the small room of the basement. There was no bed or blankets, so Whumpee chose a small corner of the room to be their sleeping area. One lamp barely illuminated the whole room. Despite the cold, hard floors with no rug, the forbidding metal walls that trapped in the cold and didn't allow for any warmth, and the constant sound of wind blowing, they weren't upset. They never expected good conditions, and honestly the place had been pretty good so far. They were surprised none of the masters had done anything to them yet. They'd only ever been with one other person like that before, and even he got violent when drinking.

B-But what if they don't actually want to hurt me and just need me to work?

They shook their head violently, trying to expel the thoughts from it. That's ridiculous, stop dreaming. Just act as you normally do and hope they aren't anything l-like t-the last g-guy.. They grimaced painfully, looking away.

They came to a small clothing closet and pulled on a outfit suitable for cleaning. Their legs were mostly barren, offering them no protection in the frigid room, and they shivered. They had just finished fixing themselves up when the bell rang. They jumped, startled, then composed themself and entered into their servant mode, blank-faced and controlled. They quickly exited the freezing basement and climbed up the steps, trying to simultaneously hurry to get their orders, yet not look rushed or frantic like a novice slave.

They'd done this before.

They could do this.

[witchy-shortcake]

That one Jade drabble i promised i would write.

TW⚠️: This story contains mentions of drinking and substance abuse, if you find those themes triggering i advice you to Skip this.

I really hope you all enjoy my first attempt at a semi-decent whump drabble.

Jade came stumbling into the apartment. She didn't even bother to take off her boots, which were leaving muddy footprints everywhere.

Slumping against the wall, she managed to reach the couch and crah face first into the cushioned surface, letting out a small muffled sound.

She sat Up as best as she could, wincing in pain, and started undressing, tossing her blood-stained clothes aside, leaving on only her bra and panties. There's were still a couple hours before she had to pick up Sunny from school so she could clean It all Up later.

She examined the bullet wounds on her leg and forearm, she was sure she could dig the bullets out of there herself, she wasn't a newbie anymore, but, still, she would need a little... Numbing if she wanted It to work.

She crawled towards one of the drawers she always kept locked so her sister wouldn't try to play with it's contents, leaving a bloody trail on the floor, and took out some pills, gauze and a bottle of cheap liquor. Those would probably do the trick.

She stumbled back to the couch with the little strenght she had left and downed the pills in one go, followed by a big gulp of absolutely disgusting alcohol that tasted like rusty nails. She then closed her eyes and waited for the pain to subside, taking another hit from the alcohol bottle every time she felt the burning pain of her wounds, which were seemingly already starting to get infected.

Jade finaly started feeling the effects of the drugs coursing through her system. She bit into the shirt she had casted aside before to try and avoid screaming and started digging her fingers into one of the wounds. The pain made her see black spots but the alcohol and The pills were numbing the sensations down to some degree, and she sure was thankful for that.

She managged to dig out both of the bullets and poorly wrap both the open wounds in gauze. She got Up from the couch, skinny legs trembling with the effort to walk to the bathroom to clean herself without putting too much weight in the injured leg. When she got there she turned the water on to draw herself a cold bath and disposed of her underwear. She took the rest of the pills out of their bag and swallowed them before going into the bathtub.

She slipped into the bathtub, letting out a sigh of relief as the freezing water made Contact with her sweat-soaked skin, her wounds stung like hell but It wouldn't last long, the drugs were already starting to take effect and She could feel It, she only had to wait a couple of minutes more.

Before she knew It, Jade was barely conscious, her head kept above water but not for long. She felt hot and nauseous and her head felt like It was stuffed with cotton. She could no longer tell when or where she was anymore.

If she could have looked at herself from outside of her body, Jade would have though It was ironic, She looked almost like he did, when she found him in his apartment almost three months ago, feverish, high out of his mind and injured beyond repair, marinating in a mixture of old bathwater and his own blood for god knows how long, but, somehow, still Alive and kicking. But, if she didn't manage to get Up before the bathtub overflowed and her head ended Up under water Jade would not have the same luck.

She woke Up again almost an hour later. The water had thankfully stopped running, and The one that she was bathing in was a brownish red, from her Blood and all the dirt that she had come home covered in. She crawled out of the tub, leaving behind the drenched and bloody bandages and managed to take a few steps before she fell to her knees, overcome by pain and overwhelming nausea. She held back her hair as best as she could, even though It was damp and plastered to her face, and started spewing out all the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. She had barely eaten anything for the past few days, but still, she felt like her body was purging out all her sins, along with what seemed like an endless flow of watery vomit.

When her stomach finaly stopped convulsing she fell to the ground, too exhausted to even cry in pain when her head hit the cold floor, falling into a far from blissful sleep.

[rosieposey-torturedpoet]

(So that one post about Caretaker breaking down with worry actually had two endings I could've gone with so here's PT. 2 ig, you can read)

You can read PT. 1 here

--------------------------------------------------------------------

"Why, on EARTH: did you try that. That was the most dangerous stunt I think I've ever seen you pull. It was arrogant and stupid-"

"Yeah, but it worked. Didn't it? I got the mission done."

"Whumpee, that is not. the. point. It was dangerous and directly against orders!" Caretaker clenched her fist, Whumpee was the most stress inducing person on the team, who never seemed to understand that there were consequences to her actions, "Do you realize how hurt you could've been? That could've killed you!"

"For starters, It DIDN'T kill me. I'm still right here in the flesh!! And second: if it did kill me, there's always hundreds of other people to take my spot!! People are replaceable! You, me: we're all just pawns!!"

Caretaker's eyes widened, ""You don't mean that.. you don't know what you're talking about."

"Actually: you'll find that, I do in fact, know what I'm talking about. I have been in this life just as long as you have: and it's not my fault you can't see through it. You only care because it's your job to care, so don't pretend that your life would change if I was de-"

"STOP! stop right there."

"Or what?" Whumpee cocked her head to the side

Caretaker took a deep breath and swiftly walked out of the room, barely fighting the urge to slam the door right in Whumpee's face: she couldn't do it anymore, she was exhausted and mad. Whumpee had been Whumper's target for years at this point, from a stratigical standpoint: it made sense. Whumpee was strong, but cocky and for how smart she is: she's naive. Caretaker walked further down the hallway trying to calm down.

While Team Mate made his presence known to Whumpee

"You shouldn't have said that."

"Oh? And now you're gonna berate me too?"

"No! it's just, that was a really cruel thing to say" Team Mate put his bag of supplies down on the table, "Caretaker loves you a lot"

"Did you not just hear what I said? You don't need to lie to me."

Team Mate was quiet for a minute, contemplating how to say this, "Do you remember that one battle we had with Whumper, and you were taken for a week or two?"

Whumpee whipped her head around to look at Team Mate, jump scared at the mention of the experience, "Yeah..?"

"Well do you remember when we finally found you and you were so hurt that you were out of it for a while?"

Slightly uncomfortable, Whumpee completely turned to face Team Mate, "Where are you going with this?"

"You wouldn't know. But Caretaker fell apart. Well, really, the whole team did. Including me. We were all so scared, Whumpee. We were worried and, then we found you. And you were hurt. Really hurt." Whumpee could hear the tear forming in Team Mates throat, "For goodness sakes, Whumpee, Caretaker didn't eat. She didn't sleep! For weeks! Because she was so worried, and I don't know what or who gave you the mindset that you could just throw your life away and it not affect anyone but it's dangerous. You're apart of a team now, you don't get the luxury of no one caring anymore. Like it or not, you matter to this team and I don't think we could handle loosing you. Do you only care about me because it's you job?"

Whumpee looked up, with wide eyes and shook her head, "Well, of course not!" She said with something a kin to a laugh

"Then realize that we feel the exact same way about you, that you do about each one of us. You aren't mutually excluded from care."

Team Mate then left the room without another word, leaving Whumpee speechless and ashamed.