#rescuer whump

[chaotic-orphan]

Guardian Angel

Whumpee blinked at Caretaker, owlish eyes wide as Caretaker opened their cell door with a key like it was nothing. They didn’t care about making noise or Whumper hearing them, they just swooped into Whumpee’s cell, that same toothy grin on their face that was both friendly and intimidating at once.

“You— you came.”

Caretaker leaned against the door of the cell, crossing their arms over their chest. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

Whumpee just stared. Caretaker nodded at them. “Now that your mistaken lack of faith in me has been rectified, let’s get moving.”

Whumpee nodded their head. Of course! In their stupor they probably looked like an idiot, staring at Caretaker like they were their guardian angel. Probably because they were.

Another voice piped in from across Whumpee’s cell. “Whumpee?” A voice called out and Whumpee’s heart raced in their chest. They ran out of the cell, straight past Caretaker and out the door, going to Other Whumpee’s cell.

They glanced at Caretaker over their shoulder who stepped out of the cell. Eyes pleading. Caretaker’s expression didn’t change. They just said: “no” flatly.

“Caretaker please! Other Whumpee kept me alive in here! We’ve been leaning on each other the whole time.”

Caretaker blinked. “I don’t care.”

Whumpee froze. “What?”

“I don’t care,” Caretaker repeated in the same tone. Whumpee turned to face them fully, mouth agape.

“You don’t understand—”

“I think I understand perfectly, Whumpee. It’s you who’s confused so let me clear it up for you.” Caretaker closed the distance between them, cupping Whumpee’s cheek in their hand so gentle. Oh so lovingly it made Whumpee’s heart stutter and stop, and restart again at Caretaker’s touch. They missed Caretaker, they realised with an ache in their chest.

Caretaker tilted Whumpee’s head up further, ensuring that Whumpee saw the seriousness in Caretaker’s eyes when they told them.

“I came back for you, to rescue you, Whumpee. Your little trauma bonded friend here could be the next Pope, or cure cancer, for all I care and it wouldn’t make a shred of difference, or change my mind, because I came here for you.”

“Whumper will torture them!” Whumpee said, covering Caretaker’s hand with their own. Caretaker’s smile grew softer around the edges.

“I don’t care, little dove,” they almost whispered. The truth of the statement rang home for Whumpee who pulled away in disgust.

“If you came here for me then why don’t you do this for me? Just this one thing, please!”

“Please,” Other Whumpee echoed. Caretaker straightened. There was no way they went through all of this trouble and effort just to come rescue Whumpee, sweep them off their feet, and have to compete for their affection with someone else. Someone they bonded with during the course of their captivity.

“You have the keys,” Whumpee said, voice pleading. Caretaker looked into the cell Whumpee was standing in front of. Assessing the damage. If they brought Other Whumpee and Whumper caught up to them, Caretaker could always throw Other Whumpee under the bus and kill two birds with one stone. “Please.”

Caretaker’s eyes slid to Other Whumpee’s and there was a spark there. Something threatening and belligerent. Caretaker stepped back, a shutter sharpening all their soft edges when it came to Whumpee and grabbed Whumpee’s wrist.

“Yeah. No can do.” Caretaker started dragging Whumpee away, kicking, screaming and cursing.

“Caretaker! Caretaker please!” Whumpee screamed, pulling at Caretaker’s fingers, but they might as well have tried to punch a hole in a block of concrete. They fell dead weight but Caretaker continued on like they weighed nothing.

Whumpee threw their head over their shoulder, tears streaming down their face when they saw Other Whumpee at the bars to their cell.

Whumpee was about to scream and tell them that they’d come back for them, that they’d rescue them, but Other Whumpee beat them to it.

“If you’re getting some fool-hardy notion of rescuing me right now, forget it. Live for me instead.”

“Other Whumpee,” Whumpee cried as Caretaker dragged them up the stairs. “I’m so sorry.”

Caretaker marched on, heart breaking at Whumpee’s cries. They had come too far to stop now. They’d free Whumpee, that was what they came here to do.

They could make a new mission to free Other Whumpee once Whumpee was safe. Maybe take down Whumper and get Whumpee to testify… Caretaker didn’t falter as their brain formed a secondary plan.

Whumpee first.

Always.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A.N for WRITERS BLOCK — if you’re trying to escape that dreadful writer’s block, imagine yourself as a Caretaker (Whumper//whumpee) and write the scene!!!

This is how I would act as a Caretaker — selfish, determined and detached🫶 no heroics from me😌 #sorrynotsorry whumpee, RIP your friend ig?

[whumpzone]

Whumpee was always kept naked by their captor. Caretaker knew they'd talk about it when they're ready. They'd only had Whumpee for a day or so, and so far they'd just let them sleep. Now, though, they really need to eat.

They knocked on the door to Whumpee's bedroom and immediately heard a gasp, and a thud. Then they heard frantic rustling. Caretaker slowly pushed the door open to see the duvet throw to one side where Whumpee had scrambled out of bed and fell to their knees. Whumpee themself was pulling off all of their new clothes with desperate, trembling fingers. Trying to look presentable before their strange new jailer.

"S-Sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be faster," they promised around uneven breaths. "I shouldn't have worn them, I'm sorry."

Caretaker stayed still, holding the tray of bread and soup in their hands, trying not to scare Whumpee any more while also having to watch them strip away their pyjamas in the freezing winter cold. Their body underneath was sickeningly frail and abused.

In just a few more seconds Whumpee was completely exposed and kneeling on the floor, shivering but docile. "Okay," they mumbled. "I'm ready now."

[gottawhump]

Rage Room

991

CW/TW: lady whump, BBU/WRU, pet whump, rescuer hurts whumpee

She tries to take a deep breath, before getting up off the floor. It hurts. So does walking, but she limps around the room, putting shards of broken crockery and glass and plastic into trash bags.

She puts the trash bags outside the door outside the room she is not allowed to leave. From hidden cupboards she pulls out replacements and places them where they belong, on tables and shelves. With swelling fingers, sometimes she drops them, breaking them again, and has to start over.

She puts fresh linens on the mattress, doing her best to make the corners sharp and neat.

She changes her stained and torn clothes for a set exactly the same, but clean and whole. The linens and the clothes go into a laundry bag, which also go outside the door. Someone will take them away.

She folds herself onto the mattress, and waits for the next customer.

Not the bat again. The customer comes in swinging, and 991 flinches. But the customer doesn’t notice her, smashing the bat down on the crockery and the furniture, sending shards flying.

The better days are when the customers don’t notice her, when she can rest and heal.

The better days are becoming fewer and fewer. But she tries to blend in, to be invisible, like a good Domestic.

She was a good Domestic, once.

“Jesus Christ,” the customer exclaims when he sees her. “They put a person in here?”

991 shakes her head, and holds out her left wrist, displaying the barcode.

“A Pet, of course. That’s fucked up.” The customer seems to notice the mattress 991 is sitting on. “So fucked up. I’ve gotta get you out of here. Think, think, think!”

She flinches away from the bat, terrifyingly close to her face. He starts to lower it, then changes his mind.

“This might work, but it’s going to hurt. I’m sorry.”

Then he brings it down, full force, on her knee. She cries out, seeing stars. When he smashes it down on her other knees, she blacks out.

“Sir, you can’t take that. That’s company property.”

“Your rules said I can take home one souvenir from something I broke. I choose-this.”

“There’s an additional charge for that particular item.”

“Put it on my card.”

[federaliszt]

kidnapped whumpee is tied to a metal folding chair set up at the edge of a dark, abandoned dock or pier in the dead of night. they can't move more than an inch or two for fear of accidentally tipping the legs of the chair over the side of the waterlogged wooden structure.

when their friends show up to meet the hostage-takers demands and rescue them, negotiations go sour. the whumpee ends up getting pushed or kicked into the harbor, metal chair and all, when their team fails to give the kidnappers what they want for their release.

Whumpee has to endure nearly drowning, helplessly choking on darkness and water for what feels like ages before finally being freed from the ropes binding them to the chair...

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

Trope: Ignorant Traitor

In lieu of a previous ask, here's a little trope blurb that I love <3

Ah, yes. "The Ignorant Traitor," (which, honestly, could be considered a reversal of "used for bait") in which a character is bugged with a tracking device and unknowingly leads the enemy to their team/friends/family - to the place that was supposed to be a place of solitude and respite from everything. Maybe someone detects the bug in time for everyone to start bugging out, but it's too late, or perhaps they're all caught unawares?

Cue the self-satisfied smile of a victorious Enemy Leader as they stroll through the Team HQ, seeing that their plan had come to fruition after all. They even make a point of singling out the Ignorant Traitor by thanking them, standing taller as they take in everyone's horrified expressions. "Well done! I knew you couldn't be completely useless!" They praise, watching as the team is brought into custody with little resistance because - honestly - where can they run to?

And the whole time the Ignorant Traitor is desperately trying to convince their allies that they didn't know, I had no idea, no, why would you say that? You have to believe me!

Maybe they take the Ignorant Traitor prisoner too, forcing them endure the furious stares and betrayed shaking of heads and muttered resentments. Maybe it's even worse that, when the time comes for them to be separated from their team, nobody objects as they're dragged away.

That, or they're left behind because the Enemy Leader just shrugs, saying "you've served your purpose" or "you've done enough damage" or "do you honestly think I want you, after all the damage you've managed to cause?" or "please, you're more trouble than you're worth." Leaving the Ignorant Traitor, too injured to pursue right away, to shout after their captured team that they'll make this right.

And now the Ignorant Traitor is left to rely on themselves to set any breaks, suture any bleeds, and disinfect and bandage everything on their own. Maybe they're used to it, but it'd hurt even worse if they were accustomed to the whisper-soft touches of the dependable team Medic, of whom their last memory was a disappointed glower that turned away when they had tried to plea their case. It'd be even more gripping if they barely allow themselves time to recover before they're off to fix their mistake. Give me a limping, worn down, emotional wreck of a soldier. They look like hell. They feel like hell. And you could see hell burning in their eyes. Nothing was going to stop them from setting things right.

And the real kicker - after their team has shunned them? It just so happens that a different teammate was responsible for planting the bug on them in the first place - making them the True Traitor. Maybe the Enemy Leader separated them from the imprisoned team under the guise of leverage, to ensure that everyone behaved themselves, when in reality the True Traitor is thriving under the Enemy Leader's control. Now there's another layer of betrayal!

So, the Ignorant Traitor vows to make things right. They soon lose count of failed missions. After all, such a monumental task is nearly impossible when working solo. But even though they retreat with new scars each time, they doggedly continue to work at freeing their old team. Each time they are forced to retreat, the ire within their eyes burns darker. Do they manage to rescue their old team, regardless of their obvious hate? Are they tearfully forgiven or shunned? Are they killed in an attempt, which turned out to be the only successful one, and it is only then that the team discovers that the Ignorant Traitor was innocent after all? Or, my personal favorite, are they horrifically injured in a rescue attempt - during which the truth comes to light about the True Traitor? Can the old team rally amongst themselves and help the Ignorant Traitor? Does their old team manage to save them, or do they only manage to beg for forgiveness as the Ignorant Traitor dies in their arms? An ally turned martyr? Because, regardless... they succeeded. They managed to fulfill the promise they had made at the start of this whole mess - months or even years ago.

Idc if I just handed you a whole ass plot - take it! Take it apart and Frankenstein it back together and mold it to fit your own ideas and share it! I'd like to read more things like this please and thanks!! Even if they're rambling blurbs like this was! My TBR is sparse!! <3

[whumpy-bi]

Rescuer who calmly sits on the floor beside Whumpee in their cell, keeping themselves quiet and still and patiently waiting for the terrified Whumpee to understand they’re not a threat

“I know you’re afraid of me, but that’s alright. I’d be scared, too. We can go when you feel comfortable. I’m not gonna make you do anything, okay? I’m here to help, I’ll prove it to you. I won’t do anything.” Very slowly extending their hands, palms up.

“See? I don’t have anything, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

[thatsgonnaleaveamark]

this or that - captivity whump (20)

(character believes theyre being rescued but its not actually happening vs. theyre being rescued but don't think it's real)

[purple-heart-x]

Nothing like a more experienced whumpee quieting a newer whumpee almost violently when Younger breaks and begins to cry with need for something completely natural to them (food, water, sleep). Older slapping a hand over Younger’s mouth hissing angrily- or, really, desperately- that they know it hurts, but they can’t.

Older shooting an apologetic glance, barely hiding their panic, at the rescuers. Unable to hold in stutters as they assure the rescuers that they’ll be good, Younger was just a little scared, he swears they’ll be good. Managing to keep their voice somewhat calm despite the stutters, muted panic in their tone as they try to defuse the situation. Subtly positioning themself between the rescuers and Younger, hoping and praying they’ll be spared and given another chance. 

Just something about Older being protective over Younger despite being just as or even more scared than Younger of anyone near them. Being forced to be rough with Younger to shut them up so they might survive.

[whumpfish]

Reading AJ Mullican's Wolves' Dominion, I finally can put into words the thing that pisses me off about "Caretaker's heart breaks" whump.

It's not that dehumanizing pity is not a typical, normal response. It is. That's the entire basis for sadporn and the springboard for inspiration porn. Inspiration porn wouldn't be "inspiring" to a certain bloc of normal people if they didn't already think the traumatized and disabled were broken and incapable of self-determination to the point of being subhuman.

The very phrase "triumph of the human spirit" suggests that the human spirit of anyone disabled/traumatized who doesn't rise to some level of not only normalcy but excellence by normal standards has been defeated by their circumstances, by the nature of their existence. Normal people's humanity doesn't triumph if they achieve a level of excellence by their own standards. Their ability might, or their character, but not their humanity. See the difference?

It's not that this kind of response to evidence of trauma isn't normal. It's not that "caretakers" don't get "heartbroken" over what a traumatized/disabled person has been reduced to. It's that this outlook--that a "whumpee" has been reduced to their current state--is being held up as true, and not only true, but noble and loving. Because trauma and dis/inability is not a reduction. It's an experience.

Have characters who respond this way, sure, it's a response an alarming amount of humanity has. Just don't pretend pity is love, or that heartbreak over perceived "brokenness" is care.

[nouseryetlol]

Cw// referenced medical whump and noncon medical treatment

Currently thinking about aftermath of medical whump.

A Whumpee that had a doctor Whumper, or maybe just a Whumper who didn’t actually have any idea what they’re doing, and just poked and prodded at Whumpee for their amusement. Either way, Whumpee is terrified of doctors, hospitals, and any kind of medical equipment. Even the sight of a syringe or a scalpel makes them nauseous.

Then they’re recused, and when they wake up they find themselves in a hospital. I love the idea of a Rescuer/Caretaker immediately being negatively associated with Whumper for bringing them there.

Bonus points if they have to help hold down/sedate Whumpee after resisting care they need. Caretaker has to remind themself it’s for Whimper’s own good even when they thrash against them, scream, cry, beg for them to stop.

[whump-n-comfort]

when you read a fic that gives you a hyper-specific whump scenario that you know would either A.) take forever to find in another story or B.) hasn't been written at all so the obvious conclusion is that you have to write it yourself

[chaotic-orphan]

June of Doom, Day Thirteen:

“Say something” : rescue // broken promise // weak

Cw: aversion to light, captivity Whump, isolated whumpee, rescue, touch starved Whumpee, fear of freedom, messed up mindset, thoroughly beaten Whumpee (mentally), emotional whump?, broken whumpee, forceful caretaker, forced caretaker, bad caretaker but not really?

Lucky number thirteen baby

*~*~*~*~*

The door opened and Whumpee despite their exhaustion, flinched. Light flooded the room and a shadow was coming quick towards them. Whumpee closed their eyes, shrinking back into the wall, unable to do anything but wince.

“Whumpee?”

Whumpee’s eyes flew open at the voice. The voice that wasn’t Whumper’s. Kind brown eyes found them and Whumpee whimpered despite themselves. Caretaker was there, standing in front of them. A screwdriver in their hand and Whumpee froze as they stared at the weapon.

“Whumpee? Whumpee, it’s okay. It’s okay, I—“ Caretaker broke off, following Whumpee’s line of sight to the screwdriver in their hand. “It’s… it’s just to free you…”

Whumpee blinked. Oh right. The manacles. Whumpee almost forgot about them they were sitting down in the basement for so long.

“I’m gonna undo the screws holding you up, okay?” Caretaker asked. Whumpee nodded, mute. Caretaker did just that. They started with Whumpee’s right hand. Unscrewing the metal pinning their hands to the wall. The screw clattered to the ground and Caretaker took Whumpee’s wrist in their hand, gently lowering it.

Pins and needles flared up at Caretaker’s hospitality, as they put it in Whumpee’s lap. Whumpee stared at the arm. It was as if it was someone else’s, it looked so… strange. Unfamiliar. The only real feeling was the feeling slowly returning to it.

Another screw popped out and clanged to the ground. Whumpee’s left hand was lowered to their lap again. Caretaker lowered to their knees in front of Whumpee, kind brown eyes looking down at their arms, then going to Whumpee’s face.

“I don’t want to rush you, Whumpee, but I want to get you out of here as soon as possible. Can I help you up?” Whumpee nodded. Caretaker got beside Whumpee and helped them to their feet. Whumpee swayed at how fast they stood, the world swirling and Whumpee rested their head back against the wall, screwing their eyes shut.

How many days had they been down here? Just sitting like that? Waiting for Whumper to come and… and…

“Whumpee. Whumpee? Are you okay?”

No. No I’m not okay, I’m not okay.

“Whumpee, look at me. Say something, please.”

Whumpee obeyed immediately in fear of getting hurt. When they opened their eyes they met brown where they should’ve seen green and that sent them down another spiral.

Say something? Say something? Could Whumpee even… even speak anymore? Or were they just always going to be exactly what Whumper said… weak, pathetic, useless.

A bang from above and Caretaker looked up the stairs, then urged Whumpee forward. Whumpee leaned heavy on Caretaker’s strong hands. A hand against the wall going up the stairs. To the light. How long had it been since Whumpee saw light? The sun, the sky? They couldn’t remember.

What was this kindness? This help they were offered. It was wrong. It was wrong! It was wrong! Whumper wouldn’t want this. They wouldn’t want Whumpee to see the light, the sky, the trees. They didn’t deserve a gift until they were perfect. Whumper told them that. Whumper promised to take Whumpee to see the sky if they were good and was Whumpee good? Were they being good right now? Escaping? With a ghost from their past life.

They wanted Whumpee to say something. Whumpee pushed against Caretaker’s hold and half fell onto the current step up from the basement.

“Whumpee?”

“No,” Whumpee croaked. Their voice a harsh, grating sound. They coughed and tried to wipe the cobwebs from their throat but it scratched when they spoke again. “Whumper promised.”

Caretaker bent low and asked: “whumper promised? Whumper promised what?”

“Break—“ Whumpee rasped. “Bre— breh…”

“Breaking? Did they break something? Are you okay?”

“No,” Whumpee cried. Their voice so torn. So raw. Wheezing and wrong. “No. I’m brea—“ a sharp inhale “—king a promise.”

Caretaker worried their bottom lip, frowning at Whumpee. “Did you promise Whumper to stay down here?”

Exhausted, Whumpee nodded yes.

Caretaker nodded. “Okay, Whumpee. Okay… but I have to get you out of here. Whumper might be on their way back and—“

“Stay… stay!” Whumpee pleaded and to their horror Caretaker shook their head.

“No. No. We’re going. We’re leaving. I’m taking you out of here. Taking you home.”

“Stay!” Whumpee cried, tears flooding their eyes and quickly flowing over their cheeks. “Stay! Stay! Stay! I promised—“ they pleaded, their voice cracking and breaking. “Stay! Stay!”

“Stay so Whumper can hurt you?! Stay so you can be locked in a basement?! No! No, Whumpee. You’re coming with me whether you like it or not. Please, don’t fight me. You’ll thank me in time.”

“No! No! No!” Whumpee cried, shaking their head side to side as Caretaker helped Whumpee to their struggling feet and half dragged half carried them up the stairs. “Stay! I stay! I promise…”

“Whumpee! Whumpee please! I’m doing this for you.”

Whumpee shook their head thrashing uselessly in Caretaker’s grip. Weak. Pathetic. Useless.

When Whumpee emerged into the light they had to shut their eyes. It blinded them. It hurt so bad. They threw out hands blind, wanting so bad to go back to the dark. Back to where they didn’t hurt so much. Whumper would be so mad and they’d hurt Whumpee again, or leave them alone again… but that’s what Whumpee deserved.

To be alone.

Not to have careful hands carrying them kicking and crying from their safe space. Their dark hole. Their isolation from society that didn’t need Whumpee. That didn’t want Whumpee.

Weak. Pathetic. Useless Whumpee.

Something covered their head and Whumpee flinched. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s for your eyes. So you adjust. You can open them now. It’s not as bright.”

Whumpee opened one eye as a test. Caretaker was right. It was less bright. More… muted. Brightness made bearable. Whumpee looked at Caretaker who smiled at them, happy.

“Better?”

Whumpee nodded.

“Will you keep fighting me?” Caretaker asked sadly.

Whumpee looked at Caretaker. Their eyes hopeful, their lips turned down to a frown. Too much emotion in their face it was hard for Whumpee to read. Whumper always had one emotion. Anger. Hatred. Contempt. It was easy to see, or if it wasn’t Whumper would tell Whumpee exactly how they were feeling. This was hard. Harder.

Whumpee looked down the basement steps to their room. The shackles on the ground where they once sat, silent. Quiet. Safe. Whumpee couldn’t hurt anyone there, but Caretaker… they were hurting Caretaker right now, Whumpee could see it.

They… they just didn’t want to be alone again… they were selfish and weak and pathetic. They just didn’t want to be quiet and alone.

Whumpee shook their head, and Caretaker smiled and put their arms around Whumpee again. Whumpee froze. They made Caretaker happy why were they doing this? What were they doing?

“It’s okay, Whumpee. It’ll be okay.”

[clickerflight]

Whump week: Do you trust me?

@week-of-whump

Masterlist

Part 5

If you're confused about how all these bits fit together, uhhhh, it would take too long to explain :) I got carried away with this one. It was super fun!

Content: Teen whumpee, character being called 'slow', caught, retrained, gun pointed at a minor, mentions of child abuse, immortal adult taking a gunshot to the throat, car crash, broken leg, road rash

...........................................

Ryan and Souka ran. Souka, despite his diminutive height, stayed ahead of Ryan because he was immune to glass and stones stabbing into the soles of his bare feet while Ryan was not. 

Ryan and Souka had been wading through a pond together, finally taking some time to properly get to know each other now that Ryan wasn’t sick anymore and while they were waiting for the case against Ryan’s mother to go through. Ryan had felt like a child again. Souka was quiet, but he seemed to know exactly what to do to show Ryan how to be young, to forget about the past for just a day. 

And then two men had showed up at the shore of the pond, watching them closely. Sure, it was a public pond, but the two had grown uncomfortable, especially since the two seemed to be guarding their shoes. 

Then Ryan had recognized one of the men as his uncle. His mother’s favorite brother. Souka seemed to pick up on the situation in an instant. The younger teen had grabbed Ryan’s arm and they ran. Ryan recognized the streets they ran on as they raced to get back to Souka’s house, the place Ryan had been staying at to get away from his mother’s house. 

Ryan looked back over his shoulder and yelped when he saw the men running after them. They were catching up quickly, though Souka didn’t seem to care as his eyes were set on the end of the street. 

Ryan picked up his pace, despite the pain in his feet and shins. He couldn’t breathe. His newly healthy lungs were trying to give out on him and the skin on his arms burned with memories and fear, the smell of cigarette smoke cloying the air around him. 

Souka dragged him to the side, dashing through a yard and the soft grass under Ryan’s feet brought him back to the present. 

“Sorry,” he gasped, though Souka didn’t respond. He was too focused on finding a way out of the situation. 

Souka slowed as they reached a fence, sliding in through a gap with the same ease as an escaping cat, though when he pulled Ryan in to follow him, Ryan got caught on the wood, unable to fit through the same gap that Souka could. Souka turned, eyes wide with panic as he realized what happened. A large hand grabbed the back of Ryan’s shirt, pulling him out roughly enough that skin came off on the wood. Another hand darted through the gap, grabbing Souka’s wrist as the boy tried to pull Ryan back. 

Souka growled, a harsh whispery thing before he bit into the man’s hand. The attacker yelped, though the grip on Souka’s wrist didn’t loosen.

The man who had grabbed Ryan was Tyler, the other having to be Leon, his mum’s cousin in law. Tyler shook Ryan, making the teen wrap his arms around his head to protect himself as Tyler growled, “You’re mom raised you for 15 years, and this is how you repay her, huh? Runnin’ off and getting police involved!? You’re lucky she wants to deal with you herself.”

“No, please,” Ryan gasped, eyes closed and protected behind his arm. 

“Shuddup,” Leon said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed Souka in a headlock, the small teenager unable to free himself from it despite his scrambling. He sounded exactly like a trapped animal with nowhere else to turn. “Kids these days. Don’t any of you grow up with a backbone?”

“I’ll go with you,” Ryan said quickly. “Just let him go. He had nothing to do with this!”

“He bit me!”

Ryan looked at Souka, hoping his eyes got across the message he needed to convey. ‘Trust me. I’m not doing this to hurt you.’

“He’s not right in the head and he’s mute. He won’t tell and he’s not worth the trouble of keeping him.”

Tyler and Leon shared a look, before looking down at Souka, who was valiantly playing the part that Ryan knew would get him out of this. 

“Tch, fine.” Leon released Souka, kicking him in the back of the legs to send him to the ground. Souka scrambled up and ran through the fence, not even looking back. 

Ryan tugged at his shirt, hoping desperately that Souka was going to get help. 

"Now, as for you," Tyler said, tucking Ryan tightly under his arm. "You're gonna have a little chat with your mom and we're going to get the police off her back, and then you're gonna go back to work. I'm sure not gonna support her when she has a perfectly healthy kid to do that for her."

Ryan walked silently, his heart pounding. His mom was going to kill him. She was actually going to kill him. She had come so close last time. Last time when he set up a hidden camera  to capture his death so she wouldn’t be able to get away with it, like she had gotten away with everything else. 

He didn't die that night, but he had some spectacular footage of the beating he took. Maybe being dragged back to the house wouldn't be so bad. He could grab the card with the video on it and escape again. He'd find Souka and the Adventurers and could hand over the evidence and it would go against her in court too. 

Leon jogged on ahead, presumably to get whatever car they came in as Tyler walked with Ryan under his arm. 

"No need for the dramatics," Tyler said, rolling his eyes. "Your shivering isn't going to get any sympathy from me."

Ryan didn't reply, playing out the situation in his mind. He would be taken back to the house, deal with whatever verbal tirade his mom had planned, probably take a beating after he told the cops he'd 'lied,' then he'd be locked in his room where he'd grab the card and find some way to escape. His mom wanted him to work so she'd have money for drugs and cigarettes so it wasn't like she was planning on keeping him inside forever. He'd get to leave eventually, and he'd use that moment to strike. 

Or..... he could trust that Souka would bring help much sooner than that, but Ryan couldn't quite bring himself to dare to think that someone would care for him that much. Despite knowing that Matsu had never left his bedside, stroking his sweat soaked hair as his fever broke. 

A car drove down the road and stopped beside them. Tyler opened the back door and shoved Ryan in, following him in after. Ryan curled in on himself as Leon started driving down the roads. 

Ryan picked at his nails in silence when he felt something vibrating in his pocket. He stared at his lap for a moment, realizing that he was getting a call on the charm Matsu had given him. He shifted to look out the window, hoping his movement would keep Tyler from hearing the vibration. 

The vibration stopped quickly enough and Ryan continued staring out the window. There was a sound of a motorcycle and he twisted to see Matsu riding on Laurance’s motorcycle, focused on the car with the look of a hunter about him. 

Relief and fear exploded inside of him, and without thinking he rolled down the window, moving to dive out through the window. 

"MATSU!" he shrieked as Tyler yelled and grabbed his legs, dragging him back. "HELP!"

"I'm coming!" Matsu called, speeding up as Leon slammed his foot down on the gas to get away. 

Tyler dragged Ryan back into the car, pinning him to the seat as he reached over to roll up the window. 

"You got The Adventurers on us!?" Leon screamed back from the front. "I'm going to kill you myself when we get out of here!"

"No! Let me GO!" Ryan screamed, struggling to get away from Tyler. 

Tyler growled, scooping up a roll of duct tape from the floor and grabbing Ryan's wrists and forcing them together. 

Ryan fought and kicked, but Tyler duct taped his wrists with ease. 

"Tyler! We have cops on our tail!"

Tyler growled, pulling a gun and pressing it to Ryan's jaw. "They seem attached to the kid, we have leverage. Keep going, Leon."

Ryan could feel his pulse against the gun as Leon took the car hard around the corners. 

Ryan had no idea how this was supposed to end, his entire life sitting at the base of his jaw where gunmetal was warming up to his skin. 

There was the sound of something crashing outside and a thump on the roof. 

"No way," Leon muttered. "No way, there is no possible way."

There was. Matsu, who must have jumped onto the car, leaned down over the windshield, a small tool held between his fingers. He slapped his palm into the windshield and webbed cracks spread across the glass. Leon yelped as Matsu slammed his hand to the glass again, this time shattering a part of the window. 

"OI! STAY OUT OF THERE OR I'LL SHOOT!" Tyler yelled, but Matsu couldn't hear, reaching over, grabbing the wheel, and tugging it hard to the side. 

Ryan felt the shock through the car when they hit a barrier, and panicked when he felt the car start rolling. Tyler, who was screaming and distracted, loosened his grip enough for Ryan to roll to the floor of the car, curling up as he slid to the door, just barely avoiding getting crushed by Tyler. 

He was up as soon as the car was still, climbing over the driver's seat and past the airbags that pinned Leon down. 

Someone grabbed his foot and he slammed it back, catching Tyler in the side of his head. He threw himself through the fully shattered windshield and hit the ground, square bits of glass pressing into his arms where he caught himself. He looked around to see police getting out of their cars and rushing over and a form laying the pavement nearby, twitching. 

Matsu lifted his head, the road burn on his face healing as Ryan watched. He crawled over, dragging a broken leg behind himself. By the time he reached Ryan, the leg was nearly healed and he gathered Ryan into his arms, pressing a kiss to his head. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Matsu asked breathlessly as the police reached the car, trying to figure out how to get the men out of the car. 

Ryan just whined and pressed his face into Matsu’s chest, his bound hands clutching at Matsu’s shirt. 

“GET DOWN! HE HAS A GUN!” an officer yelled and Matsu whirled Ryan away, putting himself in between the car and Ryan as a gunshot rang through the air. 

Matsu grunted, but got up, carrying Ryan away. Blood dripped down from the gunshot wound in his throat, but it was already healing. 

Matsu got back on the ground when they were behind a police car and held Ryan close.

He finally peeled Ryan off himself to look him over. 

“Here, let’s get that off of you,” Matsu said, pulling a knife from his pocket and cutting carefully into the duct tape. Ryan sat and shivered. He was so relieved he could barely breathe. 

“Thank you. For coming to get me.”

“Of course,” Matsu said softly, getting a bottle from his bag and using water to loosen the adhesive to keep it from hurting as he peeled the tape away. ���I’ll always come get you as long as you want me to.”

Ryan nodded and, for the first time in years, let himself cry like the child he was meant to be.

Part 7

@whumpsday

[darkthingshappen]

Can you please continue Famous Last Words? :)

I would LOVE to continue this, and I am considering it. I just have no idea when I might get to it as I have sooo many story tabs already open right now. (Linking so I can find it later)

Famous Last Words

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

controversial whump opinion:

I really, really dislike using and reading "whumpee" and "whumper"

Like, yeah I get that it makes things easier to post and interpret and all that jazz. It's probably easier on our consciences instead of using actual, real-world terms like "victim" and "attacker" - and that's a very valid reason. It's another way to distance whump media from real-world scenarios because we don't actually want bad things to happen to real people (just our fictional blorbos pls n thx)

but, regardless, a tiny part of me just has an ick when whumpee and whumper is used.

[whumpy-bi]

Two rescuers arguing after finding Whumpee, while Whumpee cringes back into the corner with their hands still tied.

“I don’t know, man, she’s freaking out!” Rescuer 1 with their hands up, defensive.

Rescuer 2 keeping their volume low, even though the annoyance in their voice is audible.

“Of course she’s freaking out, Whumper’s held her here for months, we’re strangers, and you just ran in here guns blazing and screaming! And—wait, did you try to touch her?”

“To get the ropes off!”

“You can’t just grab these people without asking! I’d be scared, too. Listen—can you go handle the cleanup outside? I’ll talk to her.”

Whumpee still curled up in the corner, wishing she could fuse into the wall itself.

“Hey…hey. Sorry about my friend, they’re new to this. They didn’t mean to scare you, but…they did. But we’re friendly, I swear.”