#secondary whumpee

[28turnips-in-a-trenchcoat]

Whumpee-Coryo x Reluctant Caretaker-Sejanus my beloved. Been thinking about this one thing I read once that I can’t find for the life me where Coriolanus was avoxed instead of being sent off as a peacekeeper and the idea of Avox-Snow has stuck with me.

Currently thinking about a post betrayal situation where Sejanus didn’t get hanged but found out how he was caught and then Coriolanus did something else, possibly running off with Lucy-Grey, and was avoxed for it. Sejanus is given this newly Avoxed Coryo as a gift and has to deal with the complicated emotions he has surrounding Snow and the delicate situation the other is in.

Also me and my Criminal Minds crossover brain rot is just picturing the two sitting awkwardly in Sejanus’s Virginia apartment. And Coriolanus getting to see that world and how different yet similar it is to the one he knows. I’m thinking of them walking to like a grocery store or something and Coryo just looking around shocked by all the people and then all the food, the abundance of it, and Sejanus letting him pick stuff out that his family hadn’t been able to afford since before the war that’s common place here. He is befuddled and Sejanus is in emotion distress.

[lili-loves-whump]

lili-loves-whump presents:

Seizes

inspired by leo vs. super shredder

Hero winced. The trash bag opened, cans and food scraps crumbling by their feet. Just as they were scooping the remains using the inside of the trash bag, the concrete rattled with deep steps.

The puddle next to them rippled. Hero held their breath- what was happening. The walking stopped and they breathed out a hefty sigh. Hero rubbed their eyes with their clean hand. They needed to sleep more and take a break before their mind played more tricks on them.

Beside them, Villain and Right Hand stepped out from the shadows. “Team is a little busy with Secondary Villains and Henchmen. Are you good?”

Hero plastered a smile on their face. “Of course.”

Right Hand smiled back warmly and turned away. Villain wasn’t convinced.

“We’ll head back to the lair and Mentor, then.”

Right Hand turned around. “We? Have I missed something? You’re Villain, you don’t need to be lurking in our lair when you don’t have to be.”

“I’ve been there before and last I checked, you little undergrounds aren’t dead yet.”

Hero pinched the bridge of their nose and turned away. The bass thumping in their bones was giving them a headache, as well as the incessant bickering of their two best friends.

They stepped over the rippling puddle, trash abandoned, ignoring the uneasy quiet over the pair behind them.

Hero turned slowly. “Villain? Right Hand?”

They were met with the impact of a fist on their windpipe. The breath was knocked out of them as Hero seized slightly. They were picked up and thrown like a rag doll, hitting a small car.

Fuzzy black dots danced in their vision as the being stalked forward, arms outstretched.

“This is gonna hurt like a bitch.” They chuckled, wheezing slightly.

…………

part 2

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2024 No. 13 & No. 28

Prompt 13: Multiple Whumpees

Prompt 28: No holds barred beatdown (Alt)

Warnings: Violence

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Your head snapped to the side with the next punch, a splatter of blood painting the wall. You couldn’t deny the pain, but it came secondary to your worry for your family experiencing the same treatment. Especially Daryl. You could hear his grunts and moans, as well as each impact that elicited them.

“Leave them alone!” You pleaded, earning another kick to your ribs.

“Then tell us what we want to know!” Your captor demanded. You heard Maggie cry out, Rick spitting his own threats, Michonne and Daryl attempting to fight back. “Otherwise, we just beat all of you to death and wait for someone else in your group to come looking for you.”

“She ain’t tellin’ ya nothin’!” Daryl spat.

“None of us will!” Michonne followed up.

A boot connected with your forehead. Your vision whited out. Daryl called your name, his voice distorted. Your mind was hazy, a fog surrounding it that was so thick, it concealed any coherent thought onto which you might try to latch. He called your name again, a bit clearer this time. Sight and sound began to return, blurry and full of static.

“Y/N, hey. Wake up, woman.” You felt Daryl’s calloused hands on your face, your skin almost too numb, too impaired by the pain to really register his touch. “Aaron’s here. Abraham. We’re okay. You’re okay.”

His bloodied face, dark with bruising and exhaustion, was slowly coming into focus. You smiled, tasting the iron of blood on your tongue.

“You—you look like shit.”

Daryl chuckled. “Guess ya think ya look like the prom queen.”

“Maybe—Carrie.”

Shaking his head, Daryl began to tenderly scoop you into his strong arms. “S’go home, Sunshine.”

[cookies-and-coffee]

telepathic interrogation (1)

cw: telepathic/telekinetic whumper, sadistic whumper, team leader/defiant whumpee, team forced to watch, psychological torture, interrogation, mentions of broken bones

a/n: this was a prompt that kept me up at night, just because i found it so interesting. the telepathic/telekinetic whump was inspired by a scene at the very end of the book Empire of Storms, part of the Throne of Glass series. TOG as a whole as some really good whump, highly recommend!!

--

Whumper's power curled around Whumpee's very bones, keeping them still as death. Any shake or tremble from Whumpee, and their spine would shatter from the tension.

A lick of power slicked and snaked up Whumpee's back, wrapping around their throat in a noose. Whumpee gasped shallow breaths, the noose tightening.

Whumper strode in front of Whumpee, smiling wickedly at the team leader on their knees. Whumpee barely noticed their team watching in horror, unable to turn their head from the power threatening to snap bone.

"This is going to hurt," Whumper said with delight, and ripped into Whumpee's mind.

Whumpee tried to steel themselves against Whumper's mind invading theirs, but they still weren't able to wholly prepare when their consciousness became violated in the most intimate sense.

Whumper carved into Whumpee's consciousness, their presence like a serrated knife against Whumpee's thoughts, memories, emotions. Whumpee would scream if they had any breath.

I don't have to do this, you know, Whumper said soothingly, but the sound didn't come from their mouth. Instead, it echoed inside Whumpee's mind, the words reverberating against the walls of their head. Where is Caretaker?

Whumpee shut their eyes, trying to find peace in the darkness, but Whumper just laughed into Whumpee's mind. The sound was deafening, like hearing gunshots from the inside out.

Whumper spoke casually in Whumpee's head, like they weren't tearing a psyche to shreds.

I'm going to get what I want, one way or another.

It's up to you to decide how will be left of your mind when I'm finished.

How much will be left of you when I eventually bring in Caretaker?

They should be proud of how thoroughly broken you will be, knowing you protected them...

fruitlessly, of course.

Whumpee sobbed aloud, the sound secondary to the roaring in their ears from Whumper's violent will. Still, they retreated further into their mind, running from the ripping, scraping, clawing-

They didn't notice Whumper gritting their teeth in frustration, tearing deeper into Whumpee's head.

They cried out in pain when Whumper laid a hand on their forehead. The touch itself was gentle, but the skin seemed to be blistering, like Whumper was trying to burn through the flesh and sinew and bone and brain.

The team couldn't look away, their gaze transfixed on the horrible pain written on their team leader's face, the fists clenched at their sides, the sweat soaking through their shirt.

Whumper was the picture of amusement, save for that glimpse of impatience at Whumpee's determination.

"Does your team know how frightened you are?" Whumper cooed, their thumb and middle finger digging into Whumpee's temples. "That burden you carry... it weighs down every step, wears you to the bone... such delicious fear."

Whumpee whimpered, tears flowing freely, unending.

Whumper reached a wall in Whumpee's mind. "Ah, there it is."

"No," Whumpee croaked, squeezing their eyes shut. That tension rippling along their bones tightened, forcing a shriek of pain from their throat.

No?

Oh, Whumpee, you're so cute to think I'm not going to get what I want from you.

Give Caretaker up, now.

I'm not going to give you another chance.

"No!" Whumpee screamed, their tear-filled eyes snapping open. Whumper lurched back, pulling their hand from Whumpee's forehead.

The pressure in Whumpee's head lessened, but the force trapping their body remained.

Whumper was quiet for a moment, rage crossing their face.

Then the rage dissipated, became something else...

Glee.

Whumper laughed, the sound horrible and dreading. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun."

[mj-iza-writer]

My absolute favorite thing right now is my Animal Crossing island. I redid it and decided a whump theme would be fun to do.

So my character is Whumpee, and I have a secondary character who is Caretaker. I absolutely have to have a Caretaker on my Whump Island.

Tom Nook is Whumper, he just gives off Whumper/Carewhumper vibes to me. The neighbors are also like caretakers sometimes.

It's just so much fun.

Like that just screams Whumper.

My island is named Whumpaway, but I don't have any friend codes currently. My island is a work on progress.

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Make your Whumpees Chronically Ill.

What kind? Do they have Chronic Pain? Chronic Fatigue? Dietary illnesses? Connective tissue diseases? Autoimmune disorders? Something made up or fantasy based? Something else entirely?

What does their day-to-day look like? Maybe they don't need a Whumper to be suffering. Can they take care of themselves, or do they need help? Do they get that help? What happens if they don't? What happens if there is a Whumper using this against them, or a Caretaker who doesn't understand? Make them flare up, then worsen all their symptoms!

For invisible illnesses; Do people believe them when they say they're sick even though no one can see it on the outside? Do they struggle with not being able to see what they feel themselves?

For more visible illnesses; Do they face discrimination and ableism? Do people treat them differently, do people infantalise them? How do they feel about that?

Questions;

What are their symptoms like?

Do they flare up?

If their health worsens, will it ever recover?

Do they mourn the life they had before it got to this point?

Do they have a diagnosis, or even know what's wrong?

What gives them respite?

What makes them worse?

Do they suffer with mental health issues as well, and are they because of the Chronic Illness or a secondary thing to suffer?

Pain;

Neuropathic pain;

Widespread, often nerve based pains from a nervous system disease or disorder

Allodynia- tactile, thermal or mechanical allodynia, even the lightest touch can hurt, and your skin feels raw and bruised. Pressing on it hurts deeply, to the bone. Pain can worsen with temperature fluctuations, warm and/or cold.

Parasthesia- peripheral neuropathy, partial or full numbness, tingling, pricking, vice like or lightning-like pains, weakness in the affected areas. Can worsen with compression, such as restraints or stress positions, and can come and go.

Nociceptive pain;

Somatic sharp pain that's localised to the affected area and can be caused by long term, unhealing or reocurrent damage and injury

Visceral aching pain that's widespread and can be caused by systemic disease

Inflammation- hot, aching pains that throb incessantly, seizing joints and knotted muscles, brain fog, headaches and sluggish thoughts, stabbing tendons and sharp pain in ligaments, swelling, tenderness and redness

Dislocations, subluxations and connective tissue weakness, weak joints that can contort beyond what is normal, soft skin that bruises breaks and scars with ease, never ending joint pain, grinding bone against bone and broken cartlidge, permanently altered movements from ligament damage, agonisingly powerful sharp stabbing pains at certain movements

General:

Pain that's worst when waking. Pain that gets worse throughout the day. Pain that's worse in heat or in cold, pain that changes with the weather

Dissociation as a way to cope with the pain, to the point when they realise just where hurts it's like being hit by a truck. Depersonalization to the point they don't know who they even are, they don't feel alive, these limbs are not their own. Derealisation to the point reality feels like it's taken a step to the left, like they're a ghost and the real world is behind a pane of glass. Both blanketing over them in a desperate attempt by the brain to stop the pain that would have them screaming without it.

Pain that they no longer respond to, what's the use in screaming when it never ends. Chronic pain that masks the acute pain of injuries they didn't realise you had. (Ask me how I know...) Chronic pain that has medical professionals shocked at how little they react to things that cause severe pain. Chronic pain that wears down their tolerance for everything else, that makes them snappy, irritable and angry.

Vice like pains, twisting clawing tearing inside muscles, pain when they move, speak, even breathe.

Pain that never ends and isn't touched by most medications. Pain that IS helped by some medications, but the side affects are terrible, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, hallucinations, bladder and bowel issues, slurred speech and a hazy mind

Pain they cannot see that drives them to hurt themselves on purpose just to feel in control of it, just to be able to see what they feel upon their skin

Pain that will make them do anything for it to stop, pain that takes their hope away, robs them of their dreams, makes them want to end it all

Fatigue;

Fatigue that drives a haze over their brain and tears their memory to shreds. Slurred words, sentences said in the wrong order, fatigue that has neurological bases. Fatigue that turns a once sharp mind into a rambling incoherent mess. The ability to read, write, speak, listen all taken away, so the world becomes an incoherent mess too.

Fatigue that causes insomnia, so they end up physically exhausted AND fatigued at the same time

Fatigue that's worsened with light, sound and being upright, and can only be managed by aggressive resting, lying still in the silent darkness.

Fatigue that comes in waves, fatigue that flares if they overexert; Post Exertional Malaise, limbs weak and pumped full of lead, tachycardia, inability to stand or walk, inability to eat, think, drink, speak

Fatigue that feels like the flu, fever, swollen glands, hoarse throat and blood pressure dysregulation, fainting and dehydration

Dark circles under eyes that only seem to worsen over time. Weight loss and muscle wastage, ability draining away.

Fatigue that feels like dying whilst alive, that no one understands, that isolates until there's nothing left. Fatigue that strips of everything that made them who they were, until they are just a shell of a living thing.

Make your Whumpees Chronically Ill.

Sincerely, a Chronically Ill fuck who is suffering far too much today and wants to see more representation.

This are purely based on my own experiences, and is by no means exhaustive, hell, I've only scratched the very surface of my own chronic illnesses here.

Feel free to add to this!

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Appetite

An early timeline piece for Aly, back at the old house before they moved

taglist: @risk606

masterlist

TW: implied kidnapping, starvation, sleep deprivation, emeto mention (doesn't happen), carewhumper, intimate whumper, defiant/stoic whumpee, captivity

It must have been over a week, no way to say it accurately though. Alyssa tried her best to keep up with the sunsets and sunups, as much as it was possible through the little window just below the ceiling. It was facing north, she knew that much, there was never any direct light coming through it, and she saw trees above.

The branches were almost completely stripped of leaves by then, they looked like horribly burnt skeleton hands reaching towards the sky. They were mostly still, eerie, the soft autumn breeze wasn’t strong enough to move them without the foliage to reign in the gently moving wind.

The basement was mostly dark. Although it seemed to never have been finished, the space must have been constructed as a secondary living quarter, or at least it was her best guess. All the way to the left side of the room, the monotony of the brick and concrete of the wall and the floor was broken up by exactly 178 white tiles, surrounding what was supposed to serve as a bathroom. The toilet and sink were mostly decent, the shower looked dark and grimy, not that she could get a close enough look to decide if it was simply dirt or long-dried blood. It was unfinished, there were clear lines on the floor indicating where a wall should have been pulled up. 

The first few days Alyssa found herself barely sleeping, just trying to take the space in. Memorise every detail, so that she can report it when she gets out. She took note of every feature of the two guys whenever they went downstairs to check on her. 

It happened less and less, or time stretched out, as the boredom started to set in. Both of them worked during the day, and whenever the door opened and she heard the stairs creak, she steeled herself to withstand whatever they would throw at her. It wasn’t much. Luke slapped her around for not speaking the first day, but it got old quickly so he gave up, resigned. From then on his visits were brief and uncomfortable at best. He spoke to her, asked questions, and when she didn’t answer he left. 

Alyssa thought if she was boring enough they’d let her leave. Cole told her she was there for entertainment after all. If she could hang on long enough not serving that purpose, they’d surely have no reason to keep her.

Her own boredom was killing her. She started counting the bricks of the wall, after she was sure of the tiles, but the numbers got harder and harder to keep track of. Not sleeping or being fed started getting to her more than she would have liked to admit.

There was no relief to be found on the merciless concrete floor and in metal cuffs around her wrists and ankles. She was getting colder and colder, and she was still wearing her dress - now dirty and ripped up - from the night of the party, it did nothing to warm her body. When Luke caught her curled up and shivering he asked if she’d like a blanket. All she had to do was ask. Alyssa glared at him, miserable and non-threatening, but it was a glare nonetheless. He found it amusing.

He told her if she wanted to eat she could. He would hand feed her, and she didn’t even have to ask. She wanted to throw up at the thought, retching when she thought about it for more than a fleeting moment, but nothing came out, other than some faint bitterness of her stomach acid.

There was no way in hell she would ever demean herself like that, Alyssa would rather starve. But she needed to consider it, especially when she slumped from her sitting on the floor unable to keep herself upright for a second longer.

“Would you look at that!” She couldn’t lift her head to look up at him. She didn’t have to see his face to know he was gloating over her misery. “I don’t want to starve you to death, you know…” He nudged her ribs with the tip of his shoe, when she didn’t respond. It wasn’t meant to hurt, still she whined, wrecked by the constant ache that radiated through every cell of her body.

“I brought you this” he placed a box next to her head on the floor. She couldn’t help but lock her eyes on it. It smelled heavenly and familiar. He took off the lid and the scent got stronger. “I stopped by that one Chinese place next to your house” 

“...you-” Tears collected quickly in her eyes, she gave up. Her throat hurt. “You s-said we- we’re in a different city” The last part of the sentence was only a whisper.

“We are” he pushed the box closer to her. She still couldn’t move, and even if she could, the chain on her hand would not let her reach it. “You’re worth those extra few miles”

“Fuck you” she whispered. There was a steady stream of tears running across the bridge of her nose and down on the floor. She pulled weakly at the chains.

“This stubbornness gets you nowhere” he sighed and actually sat down next to her. He lifted her upper body in his lap, so she was at least halfway sitting up. It hurt so bad where he grabbed her arms, she was convinced it would bruise.

He took a piece of meat and pressed in against her lips. It was sticky, covered in a honey flavoured, slightly spicy sauce, and it hurt so bad. 

“Come on. Eat” She took a bite. And then another one. She didn’t care anymore that his fingers brushed over her lips, or that his other hand snaked across her torso pulling her up even closer flush against him. His body was warm and soft, and the food was delicious. He grabbed a spoon for the rice and fed her. 

“Say thank you” The words got to her slower than usual. His voice was faint, barely audible. 

Alyssa weighed her options. She could resort to silence again, to become boring, now that she had the energy to do so. His proximity and her body against his only started to register. His warmth was like knives stabbing her skin.

“Thank me, I don’t like to repeat myself” His hold got tighter around her abdomen. Her stomach was uncomfortably full, if he pressed his hand down even just a little more…

“It would be a shame if that meal went to waste” Luke knew it too. His free hand wrapped around her throat.

“Thank you” barely louder than a whisper. 

“You’re so welcome” He let go of her and lowered her back on the floor. She was cold again. 

Luke wiped the tears away from her face, smudging some dirt around, it rubbed at her face painfully. 

“I’ll get you a blanket, if you want one” he taunted with a smile that didn’t fade even when Alyssa steeled herself once again and shook her head. 

[whumpster-dumpster]

Secondary Caretaker being met with resistance and hostility because the whumpee(s) think they're trying to replace/be better than the original one, when they genuinely just want to help

[chaos-and-codeine]

Alright, so I'm taking forever to finish up some actual fics (my fault for starting like 7 because now I can't choose which to work on first), but I wanted to get on here anyway.

No idea what to say about this because it's a bunch of little things smashed into one post, but go off I guess. Without further ado:

Literally just a few weirdly specific but broad enough rambling whumpy thoughts that are getting me good right now and maybe they'll get you too:

Warnings and content: Talk of injury and pain, mentions of poison and electrocution, blood, tears, implied drinking/drugs and mentioned withdrawals, emotion and fear and insecurity (poor guy needs a hug man)

-Whumpee that isn't covered in blood or bruises, but is in so much pain and just clings to caretakers hand or their shirt or the bedsheet while caretaker strokes their thumb on their forehead. Maybe they're poisoned and the painkillers helped but it just has to work through their system. Maybe they were tortured with electricity and their muscles are so tired and torn. Maybe they were drowned and revived for information. Take your pick, but whatever the situation, caretaker will wipe the tears falling towards their ears and won't leave their side.

-The world (or state or country or whatever floats the boat in your fictional universe) has gone to crap and the team can't go to a hospital or to their main headquarters because the enemy will get them. So they and their injured whumpee go to a secondary base that isn't usually used. They were able to get a lot of their medical supplies but this base isn't set up for such needs. Whumpee is on a couch or a pullout bed, bloodied and bruised. The team medic is doing their best, rationing pain meds so they can keep from running out and causing whumpee more pain later. Caretaker sits opposite medic, holding onto whumpee with one hand and helping medic however they can with the other hand.

-Whumpee made some bad decisions. Tragic Thing™️ happened and they tried to hold it together but in their desperation to seem okay they hid their pain from everybody. They disappeared and the team hadn't seen them for weeks. They went to old habits and people to tried to escape themselves. When they finally show up at the teams doorstep, they're shaking and scared and hurting in multiple ways now. They start apologizing desperately and wonder if they should've come here, but caretaker rushes at them and squeezes them tightly and whispers assurances that they should very much be there. Whumpee is weak and sick and beat up and withdrawals are probably beginning. Caretaker makes food and gathers medicines and curls up next to them and wipes their tears, lingering on the sides of their head as they lock eyes, "I got you, whumpee. Your emotions aren't too big for us, let us carry them with you."

(I suppose all this proves is that I'm obsessed with whumpee being held and assured while they're in mad pain)

[iamhumannotamonster]

Anyways I read a book where a group of scientists were testing some stuff to create and anti-depressive drug and while that was happening there was a subplot about some kind of animal killing the strays. It turns out the drug caused the scientists to act like violent beasts during the night and at the end all were killed in a fire except two that had to be locked up. They investigated for a cure while being conscious and had to be administered sedatives if they started to get savage again.

What I'm going with this is. Have your scientists whumpees suffer secondary effects from a drug of their own creation, alter their mind, reduce them to a monster, irreparably change their body to match with the deformation of their psyche and have them self-isolate to avoid hurting others while they desperately look for a cure.

[aceofwhump]

Ace, what is some underrated whump in your opinion? Thank you for all of your gorgeous gifs!

Oh okay do you mean like specific whumpy scenes/shows I think are underrated or like tropes? I'm gonna answer both how about that lol. Also thank you!! i'm so glad you like them!

Okay so some tropes I love but I think are totally underrated are :

A good lip quiver when the whumpee is trying not to cry

The aftermath of a near drowning. So often a character nearly drowns and then they're fine. Where are my chest infections and secondary drownings and coughing and all that comes with inhaling a shit ton of water

checking a whumpees fever by placing the back of your hand against their forehead

historical whump!!! of any era!! But i'd love to see more of like post Industrial Revolution whump (so after like 1840)

plane crashes

being ostracized from a group can make for great emotional whump

royalty whump

whumpees who get aggressive during recovery

FAMILIAL OR PLATONIC WHUMP RELATIONSHIPS

incompetent caretakers. just caretakers who have no fucking clue what they're doing but you know they try

being impaled ut it's gone through and trapped the whumpeed to the wall or ground or something

sleepy!! sleepy whump is the best and so underrated

Riley Poole (National Treasure), Jack Carter (Eureka), Will Gorski (Sense8), Dwight Enys (Poldark), Mon El (Supergirl), Pete Lattimer (Warehouse 13), Fergus Fraser (Outlander), Jack Robinson (Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries), Michael Westen (Burn Notice), and August Booth (Once Upon a Time) are underrated whumpees. I am in desperate need for more whump fanfics of these characters.

As for tv shows: Eureka is highly underrated whump show. I wish more people watched this show. Not only is there great whump for a bunch of characters (Jack is always getting whumped tbh) but the potential and fic ideas are GREAT.

Forever is also a whumpy show that is severely underrated! I mean that dude literally dies nearly every episode. The whump is amazing and I need content even though this show has been over for ages now.

Legend of the Seeker is also highly underrated as a whumpy tv show. I miss it so much.

And can we talk about period dramas because they got some good whump too.

[scrimblobimblowhump]

Name 11 of your favorite whumpees

11 Favourite Whumpees Right Now (not in a particular order)

1. Jonathan Sims (The Magnus Archives)

2. Dale Cooper (Twin Peaks)

3. Laura Palmer (Twin Peaks) (my precious baby, they didn’t deserve you)

4. Will Graham (NBC Hannibal)

5. Tetsuro Yamazaki (main character of my main wip, absolute cringefail loser that I’m incredibly in love with)

6. Haruka Yamazaki (father of the former, even bigger cringefail scrimblo <33)

7. Winnifred Fowler (main character of my secondary wip, she does not have a good time lmao)

8. Gregory House (House MD)

9. Hamlet (Hamlet, like. The play 💀(pun intended))

10. Sir Gawain (David Lowery’s The Green Knight)

11. Wirt & Greg (Over the Garden Wall) (my SONS)

[nature-wants-you-dead]

Secondary disasters are fun. Imagine whumpee makes it through the earthquake alive, cuts and bruises, terrified but alive. They know they have to get to a safer spot in case there are aftershocks, and that's what they are most worried about.

Until they see the whole city is on fire.

[daydreamwhumpinc]

My All Time Favorite, Obscure Whump Trope (AND EVERYTHING IS PLATONIC)

I just love when a butler/bodyguard/aid/servant/royal secretary/ subordinate gets hurt protecting their charge/royal/boss or plays off their injuries/worth because they think that they are not as important as their charge/royal/boss, but by Gods they will be reminded how precious of a friend/found family they are.

Bonus points if the chrage/royal/boss gets super angry and beats up the assailant or/and has a flashback to show why the whumpee is so important to them....

Bonus, bonus points if the whumpee and the charge/royal/boss are both male and the whumpee is also a secondary character or even a side character (although that hurts my soul, 'cause they will get even less screentime.)

ALSO TAKING THE BULLET WITH THE SAME CONDITIONS, BUT THE WHUMPEE LIVES ;)

If you guys have any recommendations, I'm open to anything- manga, manhwa, anime, kdrama, tvseries (any country), webtoom etc. I'm hungry for some secondary character whump LOL

[yet-another-heathen]

Steps - VII

2,645 words. Original work, The Jackal of An-Nadr

For new readers, The Jackal is an ongoing whump series set in 1,200 BCE, where pre-Islamic fantasy meets the love of bloody sword fights, worlds that are as vivid and alive as the characters, and the agonizing loss being dragged away from home into a life you never asked for. Slow-burn monsterfucker fic.

<< | previous | next | >>

Content Warnings | defiant whumpee, aphrodisiac used as a sedative, sleeping with your captor (non-sexy)(...mostly), an unsuccessful escape attempt turned into a murder attempt, stabbing, a bad fall down some stairs, noncon touch (oh....yep. there's the aphrodisiac), xenophobia, mention of food

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpsical @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-writing-spook @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump @whump-queen @scoundrelwithboba

It had been one long, cold night since Ifyaa had taken the iron to the boy's foot, and Yeezumon had had the mercy not to leave it alone with the dreams that followed. The sobs that prickled with the smell of ozone had long since gone quiet, and the deep pain the curse inflicted in his chest was finally fading out to a bruise-like ache.

The glow of pain behind his ribs would have given him away, had there been anyone to witness it. But it was only him and the Son, and the latter was in no state to judge the extent of Yeezumon's stupidity.

Still, Yeezumon barely slept.

Ifyaa had wanted to be there, but after cauterizing its foot he couldn’t get within five paces of the human without it panicking so badly they feared it would hurt itself all over again. It had taken some convincing, but Ifyaa agreed to sleep in the infirmary nook and leave Yeezumon in their cabin with the boy, under repeated promises that he would come to get him if anything were to happen to it.

The boy spent that night tossing and turning, clothes tangling in the sheets as it plunged from dream to dream. The eadh had kept it calm enough before, but even that couldn't ease the feverish restlessness which came with that much pain. 

It trembled from head to toe in the cold night air, and yet every inch of its bronze-brown skin was flush with sweat. The eadh tinged his breaths in clouds of vapor, a visible trace of just how deeply drugged it was. It mumbled foreign words against his chest, and shuddered with relief every time he pulled it closer to his warmth.

He watched it dream, small sounds occasionally falling from its lips as he traced soothing fingers between its braids. 

He had no doubt it would have fought him if it were awake to witness this. But here? Now? It leaned into his hands like they were the only thing rooting it to reality. It was almost hard to imagine such soft features distorted into that snarl. A splatter of freckles across the bridge of its cheeks and nose where the sun had touched its skin above its litham. The feathered edges of what would one day deepen into smile lines, given the chance. Long, downturned eyelashes that veiled its eyes more than framed them. Calloused hands that curled limply against his own when he worked over them with his thumb. None of it lended itself to the scowl it had worn since the oasis had given it to him.

It didn't feel like a Son of Solomon. It just looked like a boy.

Maybe the others were right. Maybe that did make him a fool. And yet as the dawn was breaking, the human slept atop his chest with heavy limbs, matching each of his slow breaths with its own. And Yeezumon couldn't bring himself to believe them.

The light outside turned from grey to pink, and then the first rays of the new dawn cast themselves upon the near wall in the same perfect circle as the window. Dust motes drifted through the column of light between, dancing slow and golden on unseen eddies of air.

His secondary hands brushed over the human's cheek, explored the stubble along its jaw. Its braids lay loose in a cascade across Yeezumon's shoulder, cheek pressed against his chest. 

The ship had already begun to stir to life outside the silence of their quarters. Familiar shouts echoed back and forth, the occasional thump of wood on wood as cargo was lifted and moved. The Quartermaster's voice rose into the air, calling the dawn to prayer.

Yeezumon glanced down at the human, and then slipped ever-so-carefully out of bed. The morning meal would begin soon, and he knew the boy would be hungry when it finally awoke. He smoothed a hand over its forehead, murmuring reassurance as it leaned into the warmth of his palm. It was still sound asleep when he closed the deck hatch behind him, quietly sliding the bolt shut.

The galley wasn't far, and even though it was only just past sunrise the table had already been nearly cleared by the crew who had come before him. He brushed hands with the people he passed, giving barely more than a tired smile and a few murmured words to those who asked after the human. Others watched him from afar, and found reasons to pick up their own meals and leave when he neared.

He didn't blame them. After all, it was because of him that the dirtblood had ever come aboard—the reason it was still aboard now. The entire crew had received the Quartermaster's orders that no fights were to be tolerated, and most chose to leave rather than be tempted by that risk. Even in the light of the promised gold, some only barely could contain the contemptuous fear of news that another Son had been discovered—let alone have it surviving here under their own roof.

And so he didn't linger. He gathered enough food for himself and the boy, and made his way back to the cabin before the tension had the chance to become anything more than that.

But when he opened the deck hatch, the bed was empty.

Yeezumon paused above the trap door, staring at the empty tangle of sheets for a long moment before he sighed. It must have woken when he left. The eadh would still be clouding its mind, disguising the pain in its foot. Maybe even enough to stand on, briefly, even though it shouldn't. 

If it had torn open its foot again...well, it wouldn’t be a fun morning for either of them. 

Yeezumon muttered a small curse beneath his breath, then called out a gentle, "I'm coming down, little one."

It had probably hidden itself around the corner near his desk and scrolls, or slipped under the cot. He would hopefully calm it down enough to come out again. To still eat. The ship's ladder creaked beneath his feet as he began to descend, still balancing the plate of food in one hand.

He only made it to the third step when something slammed hard into the back of his knee, buckling his leg. His eyes flew wide as his other foot caught nothing but empty air, and all five hundred pounds of his weight stumbled and crashed down to the wooden floor below.

The human was only a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye. It whipped around from its hiding spot behind the ladder. 

It had been clinging to the back side of the steps. In a heartbeat it had found its footing on the right side of the ladder and was scrambling up the last few rungs toward the deck.

It was on instinct more than anything that Yeezumon grabbed it by the very hem of its robes, and yanked it back down into the cabin before it had made it more than halfway out of the hatch. It scrabbled against the wood and fell, bony limbs knocking the air from Yeezumon's lungs as it came crashing down on top of him.

He coughed and wheezed out a string of curses, clutching a hand to his side where he had taken the brunt of the fall. His mind was still reeling and trying to make sense of what had happened.

And then fiery, splitting pain stabbed down into the sinew of one shoulder. It ripped a shout of surprised pain from him before he even saw the glint of a blade, his own blade, from the sword belt he'd left by the bed, driving down a second time straight for his skull.

He caught the boy's wrist only a split second before it met its mark, deflecting the clumsy aim of the dagger and burying the blade in the wooden floor just beside his head. 

It tried again to draw the blade, only for Yeezumon to slam its back into the floorboards as he flipped it and pinned it down beneath his weight.

The human thrashed and twisted in his grip, still trying for a few moments in vain to escape before it sagged back against the floor. It let out a guttural, sputtering explosion of frustrated curses, teeth still bared as both their chests rose and fell with ragged breaths.

Yeezumon stared down at it, his mind absolutely blank with shock.

It had...

The human had...

It had stabbed him with his own blade. He was bleeding. 

He was bleeding. A sluggish path of mercurial, silver blood was circling down the length of his arm, dripping to the floor in a growing tempo of pat pat pat. The muscle beneath it was aglow with pain.

It had been waiting. It had been planning this. How long had the boy been lying awake in his arms, while Yeezumon had thought he was still—? 

He clasped one hand to the gash in his shoulder, still not letting go of the boy's wrists.

"You little shit," he hissed. The human went rigid when he wrenched the knife out of the wood, trapped against the floorboards. "Where did you think you would go if you got out?"

"Yeezumon?" someone called from outside, "Are you still alive down there?"

It huffed out pained breaths, and then reared back and spat at him. Yeezumon's gaze went black. He seized the boy by the back of his hair and wrenched him upward, almost dragging him off the floor. He held up the blade, making the human look uncomfortably close at the length of the dagger it had so desperately tried to end his life with.

"Those men would tear you to shreds in an instant if you'd managed to use this properly. Do you understand me? Limb by limb."

It looked from the blade up to him, dark-eyed and trembling and still trying to muster some semblance of a glare. It hissed out the beginning of a bitter insult, but its words cut off the instant he lifted the blade, screwing its eyes shut. 

The voices from above grew closer. Blood continued to trickle from between his fingers. And Yeezumon just stared down at this reckless, drugged, conniving human that had, by sheer luck, come closer to killing him than any ifrit had in years.

"Yeezumon?" 

"I'm fine," he called up, "I'm fine. Just...." his gaze never left the boy. "...just slipped on the step."

Whomever it was muttered their assent, and left him be. 

The human slowly cracked its eyes open once a long while had passed and still it hadn't been struck, breathing hard and only just daring to meet his eyes. And when it did, Yeezumon let out a sigh.

Under his breath, "...you stupid boy."

Its eyes widened when he lifted it and dropped it unceremoniously back onto the bed, leaving it to flinch away from him as he reached up and slammed the trap door shut. 

He tossed the bloodied dagger aside, and then reached for his sword belt and dropped it on the floor too.

"I," A short dagger from beneath the edge of the table, "am not trusting you," two swords from the ceiling beams on either side of the trap door, "with anything sharp, ever again." His mother's shamshir from the side of his desk, while he muttered more about poor decisions and suicidal strays. Two khanjar sewn into the underside of the canvas of their cot, and a third hidden in a crook in the floorboards. “And you had better hope for your own sake that we don’t encounter any night raids while unarmed because of you.” Then a round of leather strapping that he and Ifyaa kept beside the bed, for good measure. And the last...

...the last was not where it should have been.

His eyes turned back to the human.

"You slippery little..." he growled under his breath.

Its eyes flew wide as he reached out and grabbed its arm. He dragged toward him in spite of its clamoring protests, and he began tugging open the ties at the front of its clothing. 

He could hear the spike in its heartbeat, small hands locking around his wrists and trying frantically to push away. The veneer of anger crumbled. It started speaking in rapid fire Q'aimrani, a stream of sharp words that only rose in pitch when the first of the ties pulled loose.

And then it reached abruptly into its own robes, pulled out Ifyaa's dagger, and shoved it roughly into Yeezumon's hands.

It…

He...

They sat there staring at each other for a long moment. The boy's chest rose and fell in shaky, terrified breaths. One of Yeezumon's hands lingered at the second tie that he had already begun to undo, not moving any further.

Oh. That…

He slowly took the scabbard from the boy's fingers. Two clammy hands pressed as hard as they could against his chest, trying to keep him at bay.

...that was interesting.

His fingertips remained at the edge of its collar, over the ridges of simple embroidery that lined the hemmed linen. Just above his collarbone, close enough that he could feel the gravelly pounding of its heart.

Oh, gods that was a temptation. 

He he lifted the clawless, soft fingers of his secondary hand to run fingertips down the edge between clothing and skin. The human’s skin was soft and cool, that rich bronze-brown a beautiful contrast to his own black. The boy let out a shudder, eyes lidding as the eadh rewarded the touch with a full-body wave of pleasure.

But slowly, so slowly, he let his hand fall away. He sat back upright, and sighed.

His shoulder was still throbbing, the orange glow beneath his skin spreading down his arm and into his chest as the inflammation spread. Blood was getting everywhere.

The human blinked as if dazed, realizing where it was again. Yeezumon rose to his feet, gathering the weapons he had collected. He kept one eye on the boy as he strapped on his sword belt.

"You have a lot of nerve, for such a fragile little thing," he murmured, reaching down to pick up the leather strapping. "I can't decide if I'm offended or impressed."

His shoulder was throbbing, one hand still clasped to his wound, and he was careful as he began to uncoil the bindings loop by loop. The sight brought the anger back to its eyes.

"You can look at me like that all you want, but I'm not blind, little jackal. I know what I saw."

It backed away across the cot as he came closer. Yeezumon leaned down, looming into its space as he leaned against the bed.

"But now isn't the time. And you will not be getting the best of me again."

---

Two minutes later, the human lay there squirming and seething through a makeshift gag, the length of its arms bound and hands tied to one of the hooks that held up the bed. It fixed him with a scathing glare, and Yeezumon gave a little scoff before shutting the door to the cabin behind him.

He turned back to look out over the deck, watching the crew. They were working to tame the rigging, calling back and forth to one another as they pulled the main sail tight against the lull of the wind.

He turned his gaze down to the ivory handle in his hand, light catching over the edges of detailed engravings as he turned Ifyaa's dagger over in the morning sun. A thoughtful look passed over his face. And then he cast a single glance back toward the deck hatch, let out a quiet, “Hm,” and turned away.

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Whumpril day 23

Cw: mentions of blood and implied violence

Caretaker busted through the door to where Whumpee was being kept - or, where they had been kept at one point. By the time Caretaker got there, they were already taken to a secondary location immediately once Whumper’s position was blown.

As Caretaker surveyed the room, the hair on their arms rose as they saw dark stains all over the floor and streaks down the walls. Blood. It couldn’t be anything else.

Whumper would pay dearly, cut for cut, broken bone for broken bone.