#return to whumper

[quins-whump-stuff]

I haven't seen it often, but I love when Whumpee returns to Whumper of their own free will. Maybe their escape was fake, and Whumper tricked them into thinking no one was looking for Whumpee. Maybe it was a real escape and no one was looking for Whumpee. Either way, chills when Whumpee feels so hopeless and downtrodden that they return to Whumper, whether it's because Whumper is the only one who wants them (just not in the way Whumpee deserves), or for some other reason.

Is it realistic? No. Do I care? No.

I'm here for the figurative and/or literal gut punches to Whumpee.

[whumppromptoftheday]

their first year away from whumper, whumpee has a plethora of "firsts" but the hardest one to deal with is Christmas. whumper would always make a big deal of it, decorating the entire house and giving whumpee a gift.

on christmas morning, whumpee wakes up with a gift on their porch and they break down

[whumperer-86]

Fainted

Highschool return of Gangster ep4

[whumpy-wyrms]

we need more Anton whump… i wanna do horrible things to that man… (no pressure ofc)

i gotchu

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom Day 1

"Help me." / Failed Escape / On the run / Fetal position

Prompts List | Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 330

Tag List: @juneofdoom @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf

TW: running, caught in a net, attempted escape, captivity

Whumpee sprinted blindly through the thicket, hands uselessly trying to protect their face from the branches that whipped and stung at their skin. Dead pine needles crunched underfoot, the sky rumbled with thunder, the clouds dark and threatening with rain. The wind worked against them, pushing them back and making every step twice as hard, howling its fury in their ears.

Tha-thump tha-thump tha-thump.

Whumpee’s heartbeat hammered in their head. They had to get away, had to escape, had to run as far as they possibly could before Whumper—

Twang!

Whumpee screamed as ropes appeared from underneath the bed of pine needles, tangling and trapping them. The forest blurred around them as the trap yanked them into the air, the net wrapping them in a tight embrace as it dangled from a high branch.

Tha-thump-tha-thump-tha-thump—

They squirmed, trying to crawl free, but the ropes bound their arms to their chest, greatly restricting their movement. “Help!” They shouted desperately, the wind snatching away the words, “Help me!”

Tha-thump-tha-thump-tha-thump—

“Please… someone please… help me….”

“Well, since you asked so politely!”

Whumpee flinched as Whumper suddenly popped out from behind a tree. “I have to say,” Whumper continued, “I’m impressed. You got further than most!”

“I… what are you talking about?”

Whumper sauntered over, clearly enjoying Whumpee’s helplessness. “My test, of course. Seeing how desperately you wanted to leave. You only had about…” They glanced in the direction Whumpee had been running, “a couple dozen feet left to go?”

They smirked as Whumpee slumped in their bonds, the disappointment, loathing, fear, and frustration that coursed through them no doubt on their face. “Oh, don’t feel too bad about yourself!” Whumper teased, grasping the ropes, “You may have gotten close, but no one has ever escaped my grasp.” The look on their face made Whumpee’s skin crawl. “No one.”

Thunder rumbled overhead, and Whumper smiled brightly, a harsh contrast to their ominous words and the encroaching storm. “Now! Let’s get you home, shall we?”

[iwritewhump]

"You changed my life, not for the better. Now I get to return the favor" + payback

day fourteen of whumptember

2883 words

warnings: cursing, drugging, being taken into captivity, vague discussions about past abuse

this one took so so long for me to write and ive lost perspective so let me know what you think lol

~

Villain taps rhythmically on the table, slowly pulling everyone’s attention. Once everyone’s looking at him, he smiles and lowers his hand to his lap. 

“Thank you all for coming.” he nods to Sidekick and Hero. “I know what some of you are risking being here.” 

The pair nods back and look around the table. Sidekick takes Hero’s marred hand in his and squeezes it. Hero looks down at her lap and exhales shakily. She looks up and sees Living Weapon staring at her. It puts its hands on the table and smiles. 

“No need to worry, we’re all here for the same purpose,” Living Weapon says. 

Villain taps on the table again, “It’s right. If any of you hurt anyone at this table before our job is done, you will be punished.” 

Vigilante stands up, slamming her fist on the table, “And what is our purpose? Why’d you call all of us here?” 

Villain raises an eyebrow and takes a deep breath. Vigilante ducks her head and sits back down before he answers. “Superhero has hurt all of us. It’s time he’s taught a lesson, don’t you think?” 

Hero slides down in her chair and looks at her lap. She ignores Handler’s pitying eyes and tightens her grip on Sidekick’s hand. He, in turn, taps his thumb on the heel of her hand and takes a deep breath. She follows and her hand relaxes in his. 

“In front of you,” Villain starts, picking up a stack of papers and showing them to everyone, “Is a packet of everyone’s roles in this. I want you to read over it, ask any questions you have, and tell me you can do it.” 

Hero flips the front page of the packet in front of her, then the next, and two more until she sees the one with her name at the top. She skims the first paragraph, then reads it through. Her breath hitches and she looks up at Villain, eyes wide. 

“Concerns?” Villain asks, walking over to her and looking at the packet over her shoulder. 

She puts her finger on the page and underlines one of the steps of his plan. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do this.” 

Sidekick peers over her arm and nods, “I can.” 

Villain pats him on the shoulder, “There we go! You two can combine roles and work out what works for who. As long as all of it gets done.” 

Hero tilts her head and stares at Sidekick. Her brows furrow together and she whispers, “You really think you can do that?” 

He almost laughs, “Without a doubt. But you’ll need to do this for me.” 

He slides his packet closer to her and puts his finger next to one of his steps. Hero nods and flips to it in her packet, starring the number. 

“Ok!” Villain says, standing up. “If no one has any questions, I think we can call it a night. You all can get in contact with me if something changes?” 

Everyone nods or murmurs confirmation. They all push away from the table and stand. Hero folds the packet up and tucks it in her waistband. She and Sidekick stay back as everyone leaves. 

Villain stands in front of her and smiles, “Something’s wrong?” 

She bites her cheek and shakes her head. Looking around nervously, she shrugs and frowns. “You’re sure this is going to work?” 

Villain nods and takes a deep breath. He pats her shoulder and sighs heavily. 

“It has to,” She says, a sudden urgency creeping into her voice. “If it doesn’t…” 

Sidekick links his arm with hers and nods, “It will.” 

Villain inhales deeply and forces a smile, “Alright. I will see you two in three days, make sure you get your jobs done, it’s pretty reliant on you until that night. Don’t fuck it up.” 

He laughs, trying to cut through some of the urgency. Sidekick turns Hero away and nods once to him, “We’ll see you in three days.” 

~

Hero fidgets in her seat, looking over her shoulder at Superhero. He’s in the kitchen cooking dinner and it’s time for her to follow through on her part of the plan. Slowly, so slowly, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small vial with a faintly pink powder in it.

She unscrews the lid and looks back at Superhero again. While he ducks down to get something from one of the cupboards, she dumps the contents of the vial into Superhero’s drink. 

It fizzles as it dissolves into the iced tea and Hero pockets the vial. Superhero whistles cheerily in the kitchen and struts into the dining room with three plates balanced between his arms. 

He sets one down in front of Hero and frowns. 

“Where’s Sidekick?”

“I’m here!” He says, skidding into the room. “Sorry, I completely lost track of time!” 

He slips into his chair and inhales deeply, “That smells amazing! Did you get shrimp?” 

Superhero sets the plate down in front of him and grunts a confirmation. “I was promised it was the best money could buy.” 

“The only kind of shrimp one can buy: expensive,” Sidekick says, smelling it again. 

Hero shifts anxiously in her chair and eyes Superhero’s drink. Part of her wants to knock it over, part of her wants to dump it down his throat, and part of her wants to drink it herself. 

Superhero sets his plate down and slides onto his chair. He closes his eyes, mutters a quick blessing, and picks his fork up. 

Hero holds a finger up and finishes taking a drink of her water, “Why don’t you try the tea? I tried a new brand and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’d love to hear your opinion.” 

Superhero scowls, but puts his fork down. “What was wrong with the old stuff?” 

He puts his nose on the rim of the cup and sniffs it, tilting his head, he shrugs and takes a sip. Hero and Sidekick exchange a glance as Superhero chugs the rest of the cup, tilting it as far back as he can. 

Sighing, he slams it down on the table and looks at Hero, “Forget the old stuff, that’s what we’ll buy from now on, got it?” 

Hero nods and takes a drink of it herself. She puts the cup back on the table and looks expectantly at Superhero. 

He looks at her and wipes his face, “Do I have a tea mustache?” 

She forces a laugh and takes a bite of her shrimp, “You got it.” 

Sidekick raps his fingers on the table and Superhero turns to look at him, head dipping just a little bit. 

“Can you not do that?” Superhero snaps. 

Sidekick does it again and he smirks, “Gonna do something about it?” 

He slams his fist on the table and stands up. His hand wraps around Sidekick’s throat and Hero gasps. She pushes up from the table and grabs the back of his shirt. Tugging him backwards, she sees his eyes roll back and she steps out of the way. 

He falls to the ground with a loud THUMP and Sidekick stares at her. He feels his throat and takes a few deep breaths. “Thanks.” 

“What the hell was that about?” She accuses, her finger jabbing into his chest. “What were you thinking!” 

He takes a drink of his water and coughs softly. “Well if you’d been the one to get the poison, you’d know that it kicks in faster when the ingester is moving around. What I should have known is that it makes some people irritable.” 

He looks up at her and frowns, “Is it bruising?” 

Gently, she traces over his collarbone and stops when he gasps softly. She pulls her hand back and nods. “It’ll be a couple days before it goes away.” 

He nods and pulls his collar up to cover the handprints. He exhales shakily and stares at Superhero, then grabs his phone from his pocket. “I’ll text Handler, let her know everything’s on track.” 

Hero’s head bobs and she sits down. Staring at the shrimp makes her stomach turn, so she pushes away from the table and dumps her plate in the trash. 

“She’s  on her way here,” Sidekick says, taking a cautious bite of his shrimp. “Said it’d be no more than-” 

A knock on the door cuts him off and he sets his fork on the table. “I’ll get it!” 

He runs out of the dining room and Hero can hear the deadbolt sliding open. The door creaks open and Sidekick welcomes Living Weapon and Handler with warm pleasantries like Superhero wasn’t passed out on the floor. 

Handler walks into the dining room and looks around before her eyes land on Hero. She smiles softly and waves, “Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

“How long has he been out?” She walks up to him and nudges him with her foot, rolling him onto his back. 

She whistles and squats down next to him. Hero shifts her weight anxiously and looks at the clock on the wall, “Maybe three minutes? Not very long.” 

Living Weapon strides into the room and tilts its head at the sight of Superhero on the floor. “Not gonna lie,” It says, leaning close to Hero, “I wasn’t sure you’d follow through.” 

Hero takes a step away from it and shrugs, “Of course I followed through.” 

Handler stands up and snaps at Living Weapon. She takes its place next to Hero and shakes her head, “Don’t mind it, of course you did your part.” 

Living Weapon hikes Superhero up on its shoulder and sighs heavily. It nods once and walks out of the dining room. Handler follows it, almost running to catch up. 

Hero follows after her and waves to Sidekick, “You should stay here in case someone comes looking for him. I’ll be fine, I promise.” 

With one last glance at him, Hero runs to catch up with Handler and leaves Sidekick behind. She and Handler get in the car while Living Weapon slams Superhero in the trunk. Handler’s lips purse and she starts the car. 

“You’re being very brave right now.” She whispers, turning the A/C down. 

Hero nods and stares ahead, forcing herself to extinguish the image of Superhero stuffed in the trunk of the car. 

Living Weapon climbs in the back and Handler drives off, kicking up dust and leaving the small, not-so-safe safe house behind. 

Living Weapon and Handler chatter the whole way to the abandoned warehouse Villain chose out. Hero tunes most of it out, choosing instead to let her anxiety get the better of her. It could all be a trick from Superhero, checking her loyalty to him. Somehow, Superhero managed to get Villain, Handler, Living Weapon, Vigilante, and Sidekick to work together for this. He’d offered them money, immunity, a blind eye, whatever they wanted. She chews on the inside of her cheek and thinks about how this was a ploy to get her alone in a way the news would believe and have the rest of her mutilated. 

Somehow, Superhero had the time to get everything planned, and managed to keep her in the dark about it. And it would turn out he’s not even actually drugged and Sidekick got her kool-aid powder instead of actual knock-out powder. 

Then, Hero thinks about Sidekick working against her. She thinks about just thirty minutes ago when he let her touch freshly bruised skin and didn’t pull away. She shakes her head, Superhero is really drugged in the trunk of this car and he’s in no way in kahoots with anyone else about tonight. 

Handler parks the car and steps out, she glances at Living Weapon through the rear view mirror and they have a silent conversation Hero wishes she could be a part of. 

“You can follow me, hun.” Handler says, getting out of the car. Living Weapon’ll take care of Superhero. We should probably check in with Villain. I don’t know if you’re supposed to be here or not.” 

Hero’s heart speeds up as she falls into step behind Handler. “I don’t think so. It wasn’t in the packet, but I wanted to make sure-I wanted to see him…” 

Handler nods quickly and sighs, “I get it. Hey, that’s why I’m here.” she pauses and looks over her shoulder at Hero. “Well, I’m here mostly for Living Weapon.” 

She stops in front of a door and turns to face it. Knocking on it rhythmically, she takes a step to the side and the door springs open. Hero follows her through the door, down the stairs and into a room. 

Vigilante nods to Handler and pulls her leg up to her chest, resting her chin on her knee. She looks at Hero and her face scrunches. “What’re you doing here?” 

Handler takes a step between the two and lowers her hands to her side. “She’s fine. If you have an issue with her being here, ask Villain.” 

“Maybe I will,” she snaps back. 

Hero clears her throat and leans forward slightly, “Where is Villain? 

Vigilante rolls her eyes and points behind her to a closed door. “He said he was getting a few more things ready. I don’t know why he waited until the last minute to do his part-he planned this whole damn thing.” 

The door opens and Villain strides out, hands resting at his side. “And what would you have done about Superhero, Vigilante?” 

Vigilante jumps and her cheeks turn pink, “Sorry.” 

Villain walks past her and smiles warmly at Hero and Handler, “He’s here?” 

Hero exhales slowly and allows herself to relax when Villain doesn’t question her presence.

Excitedly, Handler says, “Living Weapon is putting him in the cell right now. We’ve got him.” 

Villain closes his eyes and exhales shakily. He looks around with teary eyes and bites his cheek. Half laughing, half sobbing, he covers his mouth. “We did it.” 

Tears stream down his face and he wipes his eyes with his sleeves. He sniffles and looks at Hero. “Do you want to come and see him?” 

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Nodding, she follows him out of the room and down a hallway. At the very end, Villain stops and knocks on a door. “It’s me, let us in!” 

Hero closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. The door opens and she grabs onto Villain’s arm. He looks at her, then at her hand wrapped around his arm, and takes her hand in his. “Let’s go in together.” 

Living Weapon walks out of the room and nods to the pair as he walks away, “He’s waking up.” 

Hero’s grip tightens on Villain’s hand and she pulls back. “Maybe I should just stay back. For now.” 

She doesn’t want him to know she was a part of this. Not yet. Not ever, if possible. 

“It’s up to you,” Villain says, letting go of her. “But I think it’ll be good for you to see him like this. He can’t hurt you from the cell.” 

She bites her cheek and scoffs, “You don’t know that. He can do a lot.” 

Villain walks into the room and leaves Hero behind, “I’ll leave the door open. Come in if you can, it’ll be worth it.” 

Hero crosses her arms in front of her and leans against the wall, listening intently. 

Something crashes against a wall and someone slams their fist against the bars of the cage. Superhero shouts, “Where the hell am I?!” 

She can practically see Villain. His eyebrows raised and arms at his side. 

“You’re somewhere you can’t hurt anyone again.” He says, voice level and commanding. 

Superhero spits, “And where’s Hero? Don’t tell me she’s not in on this, she’s the only way you’d be able to get me behind these bars.” 

He rattles them again for good measure and Hero takes a deep breath. She squares her shoulders and walks into the room. 

She stands next to Villain and looks at Superhero. He rolls his eyes and takes a few steps away from the bars. 

“I called it.” he spits. “I fucking called it.” 

Hero stares at the ground and bites her cheek. 

“Look at me!” he shouts. “You don’t get to do this to me and act like you’re sorry.” 

Villain takes a half-step over and shields Hero from him. She looks up at Superhero and sees him seething. Villain looks at her and whispers, “You can leave if you want to.” 

Superhero slams his face against the bars and shouts. “No she can’t! She has to stay here until I tell her she can leave!” 

Hero sets her jaw and takes a step forward, close enough for her to reach out and touch the cage. 

“You changed my life. Not for the better.” she says. Superhero reaches a hand through the bars and grabs her arm. 

She jerks away, trying to free herself from him, but he digs his nails into her until he draws blood. She pulls him back and his nose slams against the cage. Roaring, he rears back and lets her go. 

“Now I get to return the favor,” She spits, clutching her arm. 

Villain herds her out of the room and slams the door behind them, leaving Superhero alone in the dark. 

[jordanstrophe]

Whumper fakes whumpee’s death so they don't have a vengeful caretaker after them. But later: the grief stricken caretaker sees whumpee again for the first time after they’ve escaped and can’t believe their own eyes.

[a-whumped-tea]

Whumper was expressionless as they opened the front door, but that slowly turned into a fond smirk as they looked over Whumpee, whose own eyes were on the floor and filled with shame.

"You realized you couldn't live on your own, didn't you?"

Whumpee gave a single nod in response.

Whumper reached out and cupped Whumpee's cheek, they were gentle as they stroked it with their thumb.

"Good. Maybe this time around you'll behave."

[frantic-fuck]

Snakelet - Chapter 5 (cont'd)

@augusnippets Day 8 - Protective Caretaker, with an undertone of Found Family

Word count: 518

Masterpost

Content: Post-torture injury, implied lab whump, caretaker doing their best for whumpee's sake, when the caretaker is takered care of

Honestly I just wanted to follow the last snippet up bc I like writing Zop lmao

~

Seeing as Janessa's 'forgotten' to free Zop from the operating table, they do their best to make themself comfortable — not an easy task in her presence, even without restraints. "And just how d'ye plan on fixin' him up, eh?"

She looks at them like they're an idiot. So, the same as she always does. "I'll commission a healer, and he'll be good as new."

"D'ye really think that's it?! He's bein' tortured, for fuck's sake! Get ye the best healer in the world, it's not gonna fix his mental scars!"

"Of course not. That's your job." She boops them on the snout, hurriedly drawing her hand back when they snap their jaws with the full intention to bite her finger off. ...Probably why she's left them tied down. "I expect that he'll be perfectly capable of going back to normal within... a week, let's say. I'm sure you can manage that. You want him obedient as much as I do."

"Oh, fuck off. We both know yer not gonna ruin yer little deal over somethin' out of his hands. Yer damn lucky he'll let this slide." They flex their leg, instantly regretting it when agony washes over them anew.

"Fine. Then I'll take it out on him instead. I'm sure he'll have plenty of fun new buttons to push. Is that better for you, Zop?"

They snarl, refusing to admit defeat outright. "Fuck you. Never said I wasn't gonna try. I'm used to fixin' yer mess, anyway."

"This is not my mess."

"Don't ye start, it's yer fuckin' fault he—"

With narrowed eyes, Janessa dismisses them, responding from outside the gem as Zop collapses into Maya.

"Clearly, he didn't adequately salvage your mental capabilities. We'll have a discussion about that when he returns."

"Meh meh meh, I'm a little bitch, I am." Zop sneers weakly, more concerned with the blood pouring down their leg. "Ye think we can clean this up? Don't want him fussin' over me when he gets back."

"...Let us worry about that after we stop the bleeding, yes?"

"Aye, right. Help me there, will ye?"

With Maya's help, Zop staggers to the crack in the floor, which they've made considerably wider this past week. Solstice places a hoof on the crack and faer horn on Zop, and slowly but surely, their leg closes up.

They carefully flex it and suck in a pained breath. Still hurts like a bitch, but at least the blood's staying inside.

"Good enough. Now I can—"

"Sit down, is what I assume you are going to say, correct?"

Zop squints at Maya, who stares back up at them, and eventually sighs in defeat. "'Course. Don't wanna open it back up, anyway."

Satisfied, she helps them lie down comfortably on the jouch while Solstice addresses the other janimals about 'jleaning jhe jlood.' They prop their leg up on the jouch's arm with a groan.

"Dunno how he manages to deal with her all the time."

"She does not stab him, for one."

Maya plops her furry head on Zop's chest, and they stroke her soft, denim fur.

"Aye. Lucky me."

[whumpitisthen]

Brazen Arrogance

Previous I Masterlist I Next

The warp tears into space in front of an audience.

Upon stepping out of the gaping void between realms, the very first thing Grim notices is the blissful lack of sulphur in the air. One gets used to the dark smoke covering Hell’s crimson skies like rain clouds, but when visiting human territory, he cannot help inhaling a deep lungful of the fresh, properly oxygenated air. The air here smells of vigorous life.

The rarity of such simple pleasures is one unfortunate side effect of the Dawn. That is the word his lord prefers to refer to Hell’s takeover with, — humans come up with all kinds of funny names for it instead. The Cataclysm, the Armageddon, Doomsday, the Collapse, the Calamity, Ruin, Torrent, the End — the day the sky tore open, the day the Sun bled, the day their beloved God abandoned them. Yes, it has certainly shaken things up, and made the Reaper's immortal undeath much more interesting, but he would be lying if he said he didn't miss the Old World sometimes. All the intricate ways and lives of humanity have been tainted by unholy power, and while they prevail as best they can, they will never be the same.

The second thing he notices is the absolute, resolute silence. As such, that is not uncommon in itself — silence has a habit of following him wherever he goes. However, he can feel dozens of souls nearby, hundreds of eyes staring at the portal snapping closed behind him and his old friend as they belatedly enter, breathless and intense. He straightens, mood already lifting. It's always such a delight to be in human territory. Unlike the slaves living in captivity, these mortals taste of hope and vibrate with the will to live. Their fear always smells the sweetest, their spirits are always the most lively. Splendid prey to chase away boredom with.

A familiar warmth finds its way behind his eyes. This is what the nostalgic grief of visiting a childhood home must be like, though gods don't really have any single house to call such. Their homes are their domains, and Death’s domain has been and will always be Earth, the home of humanity, the realm of mortals. And though he rarely ever leaves Earth, he resides in its hell-infested parts the most, so he rarely gets to see this side of the planet nowadays. His true home is the land of mortals, not the ruins of a civilisation now taken over by demonkind. Seeing free humans is like seeing cattle well taken care of — their lives end all the same, yet free-range always tastes better.

That is to say, gods have quite a twisted sense of what ‘home’ might mean.

He stands to the side to let His Majesty take the lead. Grim is meant to act as protection, following from behind like a second shadow. It's what he does best, after all. A tall, menacing figure with an intimidating weapon and an even more intimidating mask, cloaked in shadows and leering menacingly. A presence that commands caution. He stalks just a few strides behind, walking at a more languid pace than His Majesty; a beguiling demon wearing an innocent man’s face as he sews terror into the hearts of everyone present. If the eager expression on his face is anything to go by, he is clearly itching to get started.

Unfortunately, awful distaste settles on his lord’s tongue upon entering.

His eyes set on a large, see-through wall. Thick, certainly made of a material considered strong to humans. It divides the dusty warehouse into two halves; one half for the cowardly mortal leaders, the other for the two deities.

They are in the middle of nowhere, on no man's land, perhaps a field Hell's armies have scorched to ashes in the past. An impromptu, flimsy building was raised here from sheets of metal, cobbled together just enough to stay standing. There is no doubt in His Majesty's mind that behind every unstable metal wall is another wall of soldiers and weaponry, just waiting for a signal to swarm the two of them, flooding every breath’s worth of space with their crude bullets without hesitation. Why else would they have built something so temporary, if not to save time on something that will be destroyed in the end?

Past the glass wall, trembling politicians sit in a row at a long table, sweating bullets in their quiet anticipation. Another row of people stand right behind them; the interpreters most likely. Large industrial flood lights give vision; — they blare from above, illuminating every imperfection on every face and magnifying it tenfold. No escort, no welcoming expressions and pleasantries, no offerings or sacrifices. No decency. Just a big, empty room reeking of cowardice and disrespect.

Worst of all, all his subjects have provided him with were a single table and chair, sitting in the middle of the floor right under a hot ray of artificial light. There is not even as much as a glass of water on the surface of the scuffed up thing.

A shameful presentation if he has ever seen one. Only humans could invite their benevolent god and welcome him in a metal shed in the middle of nowhere, begging for help disdainfully from behind an ugly, flimsy shield. Truly shameless.

From the opposite side of the glass, a tall woman emerges, followed by a couple others not unlike her. They wear religious cloaks that cover their bodies almost completely. Walking up to the glass wall with their eyes to the floor, they kneel beside each other, bowing deep in worship, their hooded foreheads touching the ground.

They wear his colours, they wear his symbols, they act in accordance with what they think he may appreciate as worship. They are his followers, clearly, surely brought here to welcome him properly.  — “In the name of all government officials taking part in this diplomatic meeting today, I, as your humble High Priestess, welcome you, our most merciful Lord. We are forever thankful for your benevolence. May your kindness persist and your mercy reach us, so we may forever provide you with our tireless service and sinful flesh in return. We offer our bodies to use as you see fit. We are here to serve only you.”

Her words are clear and enunciated, void of nearly all emotion apart from the slightest vibrato of nerves impossible to hide in the face of such honour. She talks with the utmost respect, with the reverence of a zealot finally allowed to look upon her one true god. Despite all that, His Majesty’s expression remains emotionless and uncaring. Slightly disappointed.

Once her monologue ends, he simply ignores all eyes on him, remaining quiet as he walks up to the shoddy, pathetic chair meant for him and lays a hand on the back of it. Gripping it with any force snaps a piece of the material off — its metal legs creak, and the piece in his hand crumbles to sawdust. It isn't even made out of proper lumber, but of wood waste and chemicals. It wouldn't surprise him if they duct taped the thing together the same way they did with this building. His frown deepens. Grim giggles to himself behind him, wandering the length of the room back and forth lazily, just waiting to be allowed to pounce. His laughter chills the air, yet his Lord’s blood only warms.

No emotion paints his face, but the intensity with which the demon aims his expectant glance at his kneeling servants just behind the glass is powerful enough to send a violent shiver of displeasure down each of their backs.

“Angela,” — he calls with a smile to the one in the middle, who jumps at hearing her true name flow from the mouth of her god with such nonchalance; unexpected, unprovoked, — “tell me. Do you think this is acceptable?”

In the following pause, the carefully kept professional admiration flickers in her eyes. She hesitates to answer, a breath caught in her throat at being named and called upon so directly. — “I-I do not understand, my Lord. Forgive me.”

“Rise.”

Without hesitance, but a great deal of terror, she clambers to her feet, nailing her gaze to the toes of her shoes. The row of mortals behind her shuffle uncomfortably, looking to each other in confusion. He can taste their unease on the tip of his pointed tongue. He finds some joy in derailing their little plans, whatever they may be. Humans always have a plan, always go by rules and instructions and orders. They were truly only ever meant to be servants.

“I-If I have displeased you, My Lord, I only ask —”

He lifts one finger and her mouth snaps shut like a snare around one’s throat.

“I am aware you must not be in charge of operations that do not pertain to you, child. So I am merely curious.” — He walks behind the broken chair, laying both hands on its rigid edges. — “You expect me to sit on this rotted, uncomfortable thing...”

The chair crumbles from an unexpected wave of force, splintering apart and falling to the floor noisily at once. Angela's hands become shaking fists. The audience, with the exception of Grim, gasps in unison. A hushed chatter bubbles up in the crowd. Grim leans back against a wall to watch the show from behind, sufficiently scaring the human guard he is closest to, who now cannot concentrate on anything but the Reaper lounging around right next to them like it's normal.

“Lay my divine body against this fragile, dusty, old bench…”

His fist explodes the unbalanced table next, splitting it apart in the middle with a loud bang to better enunciate the cold, unfeeling, yet incredulous almost-anger in his voice. The bang is muffled through the glass, but loud as a gunshot.

“...and worst of all, Angela;”

He approaches the ugly imitation of a crystal wall, regarding every human on the other side with less respect than worms under his feet. His coat flows after him elegantly, the swaying of its deep blue fabric audible in the pause between his words.

“You offer your mind, body and soul to me, your one true God, who is present in the flesh, answering your prayers personally — from the other side of a barrier aimed against him. Kneeling before the pitiful insects in paper crowns lining up behind you. You plead belonging to me while bowing behind false protection; instead of kissing my feet and letting your blood in true, beautiful reverence.”

He can tell his words are knives burrowing into her soul. Her shaking worsens as she listens, the air around her alight in guilt. Her shoulders tense to hide her slender neck. Being reprimanded by the one she spent her whole life working to please and worship is an almost soul shattering experience.

“Do you understand, Angela?” — he concludes, letting his words envelop every thought in her head, weaving her mind a cocoon of persuasion deeper than reverence alone could ever sink her, — “you offer yourself, but words are just words. There is no greater gift than becoming mine; a willing lamb to delight me — but how am I meant to grant my High Priestess this honour when she cannot even face me properly?”

A tear escapes through her composure, pure as Heaven's waters. She does not dare open her mouth however — she does not know what she could even say in her defence. A glint of something akin to joy shines in His Majesty's eyes. A gullible, yet powerful woman, a leader of his subjects who wants nothing but his favour. He could mould her into something extraordinary.

He lifts a hand, fingertips touching the cool surface of the offending material. The glass burns to the touch. So it is blessed. Interesting. Useless, however. Slowly but surely, these mortals have been learning more and more spells, blessings and curses alike, yet they still have a long way to go before they can conjure up something he could find truly bothersome. Humans are ingenious, crafty creatures, forced to learn and teach faster than immortals because they do not have the time to fully understand any concept in one lifetime. He wonders how long until they fully switch their guns out for blessed blades. He cannot wait to see what it will be like to truly be at war with humanity. Their rebellions and acts of desperation will only become more entertaining once they finally figure out how to stand their ground against his creations.

His claws grow to scratch a screeching line down the length of the glass. He carves it like rivers carve the earth. The sound is horrid; it doesn't seem to end. With every second it lasts, each mortal heart beats a little faster. He tilts his head, lifting his chin, no longer aiming his rumbling accusations at his beloved followers, but the wide-eyed suits behind them.

“You must see how I find all this… insulting.”

The entire wall shatters at once, thunder following its lightning, raining sparkling blades from the sky. Cries echo in unison, panic rises; their terror is almost delicious enough to make up for the sour taste of brazen mortal arrogance left in his mouth. The demon lord licks his lips, taking a moment to enjoy this treat, feeding on the horror of a hundred mortals coalescing at once. Oh, how he loves reminding them of their helplessness. They tend to forget their subordinacy with time in situations like this.

Every parley he attends comes with new faces. Leaders change, humans die, people forget. Humanity is on the brink of extinction, kept right at the precipice of all lack of order and guidance by their one ruler, their one Lord. One would think human arrogance would die down with their numbers, and yet they surprise him each time. They are a spoiled kind. They weren't made to live under true order and consequences. They were made to be free, but weak. Weak enough to be harmless to their maker. Pathetic creatures.

Ah, but that is why they are so special. Their free will allows them to do incredible things — and he of all should know best how free will is as much a curse as it is a blessing. He has been witness to the best and the worst it offers. This one simple thing separates humans from animals, yet it's only sweeter to treat them as nothing but when they have the comprehension to understand their helpless, miserable place just as well as any non-human of the greater world would. Their agony is so extraordinary because they were made to suffer. Because they understand well that the source of their pain will never cease, no matter what. They cannot escape it, this fate. The only one capable of saving them abandoned them the same way it had abandoned him. Now he is their god, and he was never one to abandon his subjects.

His momentary musing elation dissipates much too quickly as the noise of the crowd fades in, overwhelming the flavour of their fear. He has no trouble understanding what they all babble about. One man yells in surprise, another curses in shock, yet another prays to a god that will never answer. Most of them scramble to get out of their chairs and look to hide somewhere, childishly expecting him to attack, and foolishly believing a chair could even serve as an obstacle if he decided to do so. Some of them call for help from the humans in armour surely hiding just out of sight.

Surprisingly enough, no one comes running in to aid. In fact, the few guards out in the open that line up by each wall do not even move. An interesting occurrence. He knows they heard the cry for help loud and clear; they saw the wall exploding across the floor. Yet, not a single footstep, not a single gunshot. Maybe they aren't here to protect, opting to remain hidden or as distraction and bank on catching him off-guard. Maybe inviting Grim to come along threw more than just a wrench into their expectations of only being faced with one god as opposed to two, and now they aren't sure what to do. Maybe they have finally learned that nothing will protect them from their ruler. Or, maybe there isn't anything to protect at all. Mortal leaders tend to send impostors in their own place, after all. Perhaps these humans are dispensable meat and nothing more.

“Your humble servant begs for your forgiveness, My Lord. Your humble servant begs for your forgiveness, My Lord. Your humble servant begs for your forgiveness — “ — Angela repeats, now praying reverently in Latin having fallen to her knees again in terror and devotion as the wall had exploded onto her. Her black gown is blanketed with shards of glass, torn to shreds. Her sanguine blood paints her four-fingered hands, the only skin visible, which had taken the brunt of the sharp fragments flying her direction. He can hear one of her fellow novices weeping as they remain bowed low to the ground, choking on terrified sobs. To their credit, none of them even try to flee, staying perfectly still, only begging for his forgiveness. He expects no less from his resolute followers.

Letting his hand fall, he intertwines it with his other hand at the small of his back. He joins the mortals on their side of the building, passing by his frightened, yet awestruck disciples, paying no mind to the chaos he has caused. Looking at the row of humans now congregated into a messy horde, he could laugh. The scene reminds him of a flock of pigeons. Just one mildly threatening gesture and woosh, they all fly off in a storm of feathers, only to return shortly after like they own the place.

All exits are locked, it appears, judging from their frantic jerking of the door handles.

“If you come any closer, you'll regret it, you damned son of a bitch!” — a withered human yells at him, his french cracking with age. His languid walk towards the podium doesn't slow down for his demands.

“What in Hell is going on? What are we supposed to do?” — a woman asks her interpreter, who just shakes their head at her with the same fear and confusion, soon getting shoved aside by another translator clambering back farther away from the demon lord's advancement.

He slows to a stop a few metres in front of them. Their yelling only grows louder with each step, not even giving him a chance to speak. While a terribly entertaining show, this isn't very productive. If he wanted to watch humans scramble and scream in horror, he would have accepted Grim’s invitation to that Flesh Harvest instead. He turns around then, eyes landing on the Grim Reaper crouching over Angela and her novices, chatting away with them like nothing is wrong, whispering about him to his followers. Somehow that is the least annoying part of all this.

This is giving him a headache.

“If we could return to civility for just a moment…” — he asks half-heartedly, barely heard over the ruckus of panicking mortals. Seriously, a broken window is all it takes for these esteemed humans to lose their minds? How do any of them lead a country?

“I don't know what to do!”

“He just tore it down like it was nothing, Rajiv!”

“Just calm the fuck down!”

“I never should have agreed to come.”

“Open the damn door!”

“I don't want to die, I don't want to die…”

He takes a deep breath. Pinches his nose below his furrowed brows. Closes his eyes for a moment. The cavalcade of languages tire him.

Enough of this circus.

He lifts one hand. The snap of his  fingers echoes off every wall. It all becomes silent at once.

“And they say I'm dramatic…” — sighs Grim, surveying his abnormal surroundings with mild amusement. His long white locks seem to float easier than before.

His Lord hums a displeased note, — “you are.”

“Mm, well,” — the Reaper muses, — “plucking us out of the flow of time seems a bit more than just theatrics, I suppose.”

Time seems to have stopped all around the two of them. The endless silence is deafening. The blaring lights are less piercing, the colours less saturated. The dust settles in place like stars in the night sky. The air moves like honey. Every body stands stiller than dead. Their shouts do not even echo before they are snuffed out.

His Majesty observes the mortals frozen in place, thinking of a solution to this absolute lack of order and professionalism. There are a million ideas running through his head, a million possible ways he could make the unruly lot behave. Unfortunately, every thought that leads to severing the morons’ heads from their bodies cannot be brought to fruition, lest this contract they wished to entertain him with never comes to be. It's the whole reason he is here, after all, and it would be such a waste to give it up now. He could always just threaten to leave, he supposes. He doubts they'd let him go so easily.

“So,” — Grim’s haunting voice prods as he wanders up to his Lord, his canine mask appearing in his peripheral vision, then leaning into focus, — “what next? What nefarious plan is knocking about in that wise old head of yours, Your Majesty? I am just dying to know.”

“Stop whining. I am thinking.”

“Oh, it's a conundrum is it?” — Grim teases.

His Majesty does not care for it at all. — “Hush.”

The Reaper hums in laughter, but says nothing more. Quickly growing bored of the silence, he busies himself with the frozen humans at the end of the room. They are in all kinds of humorous poses, it's difficult not to laugh. He carefully slides one finger along the underside of a forearm, fascinated by the warm flesh that lacks a pulse. He wonders how it would feel to feed upon someone frozen in time. He will have to inquire his lord about it one day.

His Majesty watches him passively, fingers lifting and landing on his cane rhythmically. Other than the bothersome behaviour of mortals and the lack of focus, another issue interests him. One that he cannot take his mind off of.

“Isn't it strange how few of them there are?” — he asks the other suddenly.

Grim’s sharp-toothed grin widens before he turns to him, singing, — “it is, isn't it?”

So Grim has noticed it too. Every human ruler sitting down with the Lord of Hell for a diplomatic meeting? Such an important event would be crawling with soldiers, an entire army and defences; and yet they haven't seen a single bit of real protection yet. — “You sound like you know something I don't.”

“Know something you don't?” — Grim repeats incredulously. His eyes fail to meet his lord’s, too focused on a woman’s red hair floating through the air as he combs through it with his silver claws. — “How preposterous. I'm merely an observer. Politics are your expertise.”

His Lord remains quiet, watching the Reaper mess around with the helpless mortals with dark eyes. He waits, expecting Grim to give in and slyly share what important information he is withholding from him, but he only continues to hum to himself as he hops around the room undisturbed.

The proud demon lord can guess what Grim wants to hear.

“…Please?”  — he asks, flat and stoic. His pride is too great to be hurt from something like this. He only sees it as another transaction. He isn't giving in or being affected by Grim at all. He only wants to move forward. Nothing more.

Grim purrs, pausing, — “close. Try again.”

His Majesty's eye twitches.

“As it happens,” — he says, suddenly having made up his mind about their predicament, lifting his cane in preparation of performing a powerful spell, — “I no longer care.”

Then, the world itself turns upside down. It morphs and stretches out into infinity, disappears entirely into oblivion. No sound, no air, no existence. The nauseating spectacle only lasts a moment, but feels like an eternity. Then, from darkness a single flicker of light appears, glowing brighter and brighter until it lights up enough to bring matter into existence once more.

He creates a floor of cold, pristine tiles. The walls are next, tall and far, lit by torches burning blue. The ceiling is made of shadow, the pillars holding it reaching into nonexistence and disappearing into nothing. A long, hand-carved dinner table stands on a deep midnight carpet running from one end of the space to the other. Guarding the table are countless chairs, tall-backed and padded with the softest spider silk. A massive chandelier floats above, unattached, made of bones dripping blood from candles burning away onto the spotless satin table cover under them. Large colourful windows stretch from ground to ceiling, framed with glistening, soft azure curtains, looking out into further darkness. Water droplets can be heard pattering on the glass, though the scope of this current reality isn't wide enough to allow for rain clouds.

Each human wakes in a comfortable seat. They are speechless, disoriented, and above all, lost. They are frightened in the way a new pet is frightened of every corner and every sound of its new home, not knowing anything about where they are and what dangers await them. It almost feels dreamlike, this new landscape, a heavy and inescapable nightmare. The air feels akin to the inside of an ancient church; cold and sharp and soundless, a divine, all-encompassing sense of power larger than they can comprehend that puts the urge to worship into even nonbelievers’ hearts taking hold of their souls. They look at each other in hopes for answers, yet none of them have any to spare. They remember being with the Lord and Death just a second ago, surrounded by metal, some form of safety. They remember when they were in a world that worked by rules they knew and understood. Then an explosion, panic, a blink — and now they are Nowhere.

“Now. This is much better.”

His voice comes from no singular direction. It echoes between their ears no matter how wildly they look for its source. Slowly, they realise something bone-chilling — that they cannot do as they please. They cannot stand, they cannot speak. Their god does not allow it.

“Allow me.”

The table spawns plates and glasses, fills them up with all matter of feasts, — but something is off. It smells delicious, it feels real. The wine is thick, the meat is rare, and the roast is missing a pinky on each hand. Those who consider taking a bite do not get far enough to succeed.

“Feel free to sample any dish you may hunger for as we talk. We are in no hurry.”

“Of course…” — he pauses forebodingly, letting the mortals stew in their anticipation for just a moment longer.

Then, out of the shadows steps Death, the white bone of his mask glimmering blue with the fire of the candles lighting up the gruesome feast, his blade swinging behind him threateningly. His vermilion eyes become two red pinpricks in the darkness, glimmering with menace as they survey each and every person staring at him in primal fear. In a millisecond, the Reaper is gone. The eyes on him are led by his blood-freezing laughter, landing on the chandelier, upon which he perches with a glass of blood in hand, looking down on everyone from up high akin to a vulture circling in the air above an injured calf, waiting for it to fall over dead so it may begin its feast.

“We are here to do business. So I must ask you to please; behave. This is your only warning. I am certain you understand.”

“Now, with all that being said.” — The earth cracks at the closest end of the table, birthing a row of steps leading up to a podium. On the elevated ground a throne appears, large and intimidating, made of gold and stone and flesh and bones. His Majesty's throne. He walks into the light from behind it, rounding it casually. Once comfortable, he crosses his legs, smiling politely, in control, at his subjects.

His teeth have grown sharp, his eyes pitch black and oozing. His horns appear, multiple pairs of black knives circling his head in a crown-like fashion. His limbs have lengthened, bending in strange, inhuman ways, but thin and graceful all the same. A long tail swishes lazily, so long it reaches the floor and then some. His claws have come out fully, holding his chin as he leans back in his rightful seat calmly. Hearing that pleasant, human voice from such a monstrous, demonic being is almost disorienting.

The pressure lifts from the humans’ bodies, slowly allowing their sleeping muscles to wake. His hold on them evaporates. Now, a real conversation may begin.

“Let us begin then, shall we?”

~

Mastelist | Ko-fi

Taglist: @whumpsday @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpifi

[raven-fucks-around-and-writes]

A shot, harboring death rang through the air.

Caretaker was dead, whumpee knew it due to the deafening silence and the heavy thud of their body hitting the ground. Caretaker had been murdered in cold blood, and it was all whumpee's fault. Even worse, they were all alone again.

"I specifically told you what would happen if they tried to save you whumpee," Whumper sighed, approaching them and nudging caretakers body out of the way with their foot. "Now that that arrogant little bitch is out of the way, we can be together again. Wouldn't that be fun?"

[whumppromptoftheday]

conditioned whumpee running back to whumper's place because even though it was horrible there, it's so unpredictable everywhere else

[whumperer-86]

Highschool return of gangster ep6

[starryybrained]

DAY #1: SANTA CLAUS

Claustrophobia | Forced celebration | Panic attack

Fandom: Original work/OCs

CWs: Captivity, nonbinary whumper, demon whumper, masc whumpee, angel whumpee, nonbinary whumpee (mentioned), restraints, humiliation, alcohol use/drinking, forced drinking, choking, beating (past), neck whump/gore (past)

@amonthofwhump

Hearing footsteps, Oath looks up, his face dark. His body is tense, forced to kneel, chains holding him down — pinning his wrists and ankles to the ground, with a slimmer chain around his neck keeping him from holding his head up. His muscles burn with the strain of holding the position. His wings are secured, bound together with tough leather, cramping and twitching, the tightness of the bonds creating a horrible ache that spreads from the limbs to his back.

There’s a spell circle keeping him from escaping too — but it has no use, because he has no way out of the restraints anyway.

The rest of his surroundings serve no further purpose than to humiliate and break him down. Blank concrete walls littered with cracks on every side box him in, still leaving too much space that he can’t occupy because he’s tethered to the floor. He’s cataloged every detail of this place, and still he hasn’t been able to leave. Now the only thing worth paying attention to is the person walking into the room, waiting for whatever cruelty they have in store for him now.

As Oath turns his eyes upward to see who it is, he sneers. The approaching figure is tall, imposing, with long curly hair tied back in a low pony — messy and wild otherwise. They carry themselves with a confidence like what Oath once had long ago, lips curved into a toothy smile, canines sharp like shattered glass. Their face is dotted with dark red markings, as if they gored someone only moments before, the deep black of their eyes reflecting back death and untimely demise.

It’s Marrow.

A demon, a beast of hellfire. Someone who thinks they can tame Oath, turn him into a trained animal, rip apart his spirit and turn him into something he’s not. Like it’s simple.

Oath’s eyes narrow.

He should be in its place.

He doesn't speak, merely eyeing the demon suspiciously as he bites his tongue. And despite refusing to speak, his gaze communicates his inner thoughts perfectly.

What do you want, scum. Going to beat me again?

The marks from that have already healed anyway.

Marrow stands, regarding him thoughtfully. Or at least appearing to.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” it teases.

“Shut up.” Oath scoffs.

Marrow goes silent for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that pretty little mouth of yours would look so much better without a tongue. I’d have half a mind to chop it off if that little halo around your neck didn’t do that wonderful thing where it stabs you!”

Oath jerks a hand against his restraints, trying to bring it to his throat. The halo around it does exactly what Marrow describes. It punishes liars for their dishonesty.

Oath has tiny little scars in a ring around his neck.

…

He’s been lying a lot recently.

He says nothing more. He’d rather not test Marrow. After all, he’s not the important one here. That’s Starling.

“Oh, don’t worry!” They wave their hands, brushing off the threat like it’s a silly joke. “You won’t be punished for that. I’m here to celebrate, after all.”

“… Celebrate what.” Oath says, his voice flat. He can’t imagine anything Marrow would celebrate is worth celebrating at all.

“Oh, you don't know?”

Oath shakes his head, regretting it when he hears it crack. No, he doesn't.

“I’m going to let you go!”

Oath stares. “Really?” Yeah, right. They still haven’t finished questioning him. The irritated pinpricks around his neck are evidence of that.

Yet for a brief moment, he indulges in the fantasy that his captor might actually let him go free. Albeit probably without his charge, but the cost of freedom is great sometimes. It would be worth it — besides, he could come back later to save Starling. Just to save his reputation. Just to save his job. Nothing more.

“That’s… that's—” That’s unbelievable, when did Marrow ever express any sympathy or care for him? Who is he trying to fool?

Marrow’s expression doesn’t look right, and Oath knows they don’t mean it.

“You're lying.”

“Oh no, I’m not! You’ll never see this place again, I promise.”

“Sure.” His voice is laced with sarcasm. He doesn’t have time for this bullshit. There’s two options: let him go or don’t. Simple.

Just pick one already.

Marrow grins. “Come now —” it tips Oath’s chin up to look at it, bending his neck backwards; Oath bites back a groan, knowing he isn’t truly able to stretch it that far, not without the chain around his neck — “that’s no way to act during a celebration! Loosen up!”

Marrow pulls out a flask from its pocket. “Here,” it holds the container out to Oath. “Drink.”

“Oh-“ He stares at it. “No… no thanks.” It has to be a trick. Besides, how does Marrow even want him to drink it? With them holding the flask for him? Heat rises to Oath’s cheeks. The idea is humiliating.

“I insist!” Marrow smiles, all teeth, and Oath shrinks back, as much as he can while immobilized by the chains.

“No, I don’t —”

“You don’t what?” Marrow growls. “You don’t want to? I don’t think you have a say in that.”

Marrow unscrews the cap and presses the lip of the flask to Oath’s, holding his jaw tightly, tipping the container back. “I. Said. Drink.”

The liquid spills down Oaths' chin and he chokes, sputtering as the bitter liquid floods his throat, almost too fast for him to swallow.

Marrow takes the flask away before it’s emptied, leaving Oath to hack and wheeze, spit and whiskey dripping down his chin. Gasping in fresh air and hacking, he doubles over with every cough. The taste of it coats his tongue and throat, hand in hand with searing pain.

“Was that good?”

Oath stifles another cough.

“W-wonderful.” He doesn't want any more trouble.

“Then surely you'll want more.”

“No no no —”

Marrow dumps the rest of the flasks contents on Oath. The alcohol drips down his forehead, into his eyes and down his cheeks, and for a minute, Oath is too stunned to speak. His mouth fails to form the words.

His body is so warm, the drink is like lava across his skin, washing him away as it dribbles down his face.

“Aren’t you just drowning in excitement? I know I am! I’ll be rid of you and someone else will have to deal with your bullshit.

“Someone stupid enough to sign a contract over you.”

Oath goes rigid.

“I only have so long to whip you into shape, now. So maybe you’d best behave.

“I know you’d hate to spoil all of this for yourself.”

[whump-in-the-closet]

Merry Whump of May

@themerrywhumpofmay

May 10th- "Hit the hay."

[Key | Forgetting | Warehouse]

***

(tw: broken arm, nosebleed, concussion, beaten unconscious, whumper pov)

“You’re going to give me that key,” said Villain. 

Hero's sidekick wiped the blood from his nose. He widened his stance, as if he was trying to cover the door with his entire body. No.

Villain glanced at Supervillain. “Do I break him?”

Sidekick trembled, trying and failing to stop his nosebleed.

Supervillain placed a hand on Villain's shoulder. “Let me try something first.”

Villain stepped aside, but raised two fingers to their eyes and pointed them at Sidekick. I’m watching you. 

Supervillain crouched down by Sidekick, wary of the knife held with shaking fingers. “Listen,” Supervillain dropped their voice to a bat-pitched whisper. “My lovely friend there,” Supervillain gestured to Villain standing in their leather jacket, playing with a tri-blade dagger. “Will rip you to shreds. I’m assuming you don’t want that?” 

Sidekick gripped his knife tighter. He glanced at Villain and swallowed hard. “No.” 

Supervillain nodded sympathetically. “I can help you avoid that fate, if you give me the key to this lovely warehouse. Some of my dear friends are inside and I’d like to pay them a visit.” 

Sidekick raised his knife. His voice shook but held steady. “Hero said I was to not let you in. No matter what.” 

Supervillain’s eyes hardened. “You’ll give us that key whether you wish to or not.” 

“Key? What key? Oh the key to this door here? Yeah, sorry, I forgot where I put it.” Sidekick hid behind sarcasm like a shield. 

Supervillain sighed, false sympathy dripping from their every word. “Oh, dear, you’re going to regret that.” 

It happened in the blink of an eye. 

Supervillain drew back.

Sidekick stepped forward, knife flashing, realising all too soon he had made a fatal mistake. He had forgotten about Villain. 

Too late.

Villain slammed Sidekick’s arm up towards the sky, grabbing his wrist. Kneed him in the stomach, still without letting go. 

The young man doubled over, his knife falling to the ground with a thud muted by the grass.

Supervillain picked it up. Smiled as they twirled it between their fingers and watched.

Villian twisted Sidekick’s arm behind his back.

There was a snap first, and then a scream.

Villain grabbed him by his shoulders and shoved him– broken arm first– into the side of the warehouse. 

Sidekick managed to muffle his scream this time, but not by much. 

Supervillain almost laughed. What a way to announce their arrival. Beating Hero’s precious sidekick to a bloody pulp.

Villain twisted a hand into Sidekick’s hair and slammed his head into the building. He crumpled, becoming a limp and twisted shape on the grass. 

Supervillain stopped spinning the knife. “Did you give him a concussion?” 

Villain shot them an unhinged smile. “It’s a possibility.” 

“We still need the key.” 

Villain made a disgusted noise in their throat. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Taking hold of the guard’s uniform collar, they hauled him to his feet.

Sidekick’s head rolled forward.

Villain slapped him awake. 

His face was wet with tears. How unprofessional. Villain leaned in close and Sidekick whimpered. 

Whimpered. 

What a delightful sound. 

If Villain had more time, they would have liked to see what other cries they could drag out of Hero’s sidekick. But they didn’t. Today, it was merely business. 

“I believe we were talking about a key?” 

Sidekick sobbed. Something glinted around his neck. Metallic and shining dully. 

Villain slipped a finger around the string and lifted the key into the light, where it swung for a moment. Then they twisted the string and broke it, taking the key with them. “Alright, hit the hay now, will you?”

They left Sidekick gasping for air, slumped against the building. 

Supervillain took the key from Villain. “Thank you, dearest.” 

Villain nodded and grinned up at them, who with the sunlight in their teeth, looked absolutely terrifying. 

“Let’s go pay your friends a call.” 

“Make them regret ever existing?”

“Quite so.”

[iwritewhump]

"You have to promise I'll come back" + returning home + muffled screams

day 24 of @whumptember

658 words

warnings: young whumpee (implied), betrayal, recapture, physical overpowering

part two | part three

---

“Villain?” Hero asks, lowering her head to his level. He stares at her, eyes fuzzy. His eyebrows knit together and Hero repeats herself, “Will you be able to do this?” 

He nods, “Yeah, I-I can do that. Just, um, promise I’ll come back?” 

Hero scans his face, forcing a smile, “Of course you’ll come back, if I thought anything would happen to you, I wouldn’t let you go.” she puts her hands on his shoulders and pulls him into a hug, “Nothing’s going to happen. You have my word.” 

He rests his chin in the crook of her neck and closes his eyes, reveling in her comfort. She pats his back and pulls away. Sniffling, she bumps his forehead with her fist and stands up. “You ready?” 

He nods and takes the hand she offers, squeezing it tightly as they walk out of Hero’s base and to the car. The ride is silent, Hero steals quick looks at him, making sure he wasn’t just doing this for her. He had to want to do this, not just feel obligated. God, she hopes this is the right choice. 

The car stops in front of Supervillain’s lair. Hero glances at Villain, and smiles when he looks at her. “We can go back,” she offers. “Right now. We could leave and go back. But as soon as we get out of the car, there’s no turning around.” 

She’s begging him, begging him to let her save him. To let them turn away and for her to take care of him until she dies. But he won’t let her. Because he doesn’t know. 

He shakes his head and steps out of the car, “We can do this. Then, we can go back. It’ll be alright, we can watch cartoons all night and sleep in.” 

She clears her throat and ruffles his hair, “And we can make cookies for breakfast.” 

“Lunch,” he corrects. “I’m not waking up before noon.” 

She bites her cheek and takes a step forward, “Lunch it is.” 

They walk into the lair, Villain getting closer to her by the step until he’s all but clinging to her. She wraps an arm around his shoulder and presses a kiss to his temple, hoping to keep him calm. 

“Ah,” Supervillain says, descending the staircase. “You brought him.” 

Villain tenses under her, trying to hide under her arm. He whispers, “What’s he talking about?” 

Hero stares ahead and ignores him, “Where do we go?” 

Villain tries to pull away from her, “What are you doing? This was supposed-you promised! Hero, please.” he digs his heels into the ground. “Don’t do this. You promised me.” 

She wraps her other arm around him and hugs him tightly. With a breaking voice she says, “I’m so sorry, Villain. This is the only way to stop him.” 

Supervillain comes up behind him and takes him from her, a small smile on his face. “You did the right thing. He’s all I wanted.” He holds Villain close against him, a hand digging into his shoulder to keep him still. “You’ve saved your city, congratulations.” 

“Wait!” she says, running up to Villain. She cups his cheek and bites the inside of her lip, “I’m so sorry, Villain.” 

He stares at her, tears forming in his eyes. “You’re sorry?” he spits. “You fucking promised me. You promised I wouldn’t end up here again. You looked at me, in the fucking eyes and promised I’d be ok. You said-”

Supervillain cuts him off with a hand over his mouth. “That’s enough.” Villain struggles under his hand, still screaming at her. The tears fall down his cheeks and his face turns red. “You should go, Hero. It’s not going to get any better. You know how he is.” 

She glances at him again, heart aching at the sight of his small frame under Supervillain’s hand. She runs out of the lair, forcing herself to look ahead. It was the only way.