#whump rescue

[loserwithsyle]

Whumpee after being rescued, crying in Caretaker's arms, sobbing out how they want their mom or other parental figure

But with a twist. That parental figure is gone. Whumpee may or may not know that, and caretaker may or may not too.

A Caretaker knowing the parent died while their child was in captivity

Or a whumpee crying for someone they know can't be there for them

[generic-whumperz]

Oh buddy just you wait

*cue the night terrors

[chaotic-orphan]

Guardian Angel

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

“You— you came.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caretaker blinked. “I don’t care.”

Whumpee froze. “What?”

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

“You don’t understand—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whumpee first.

Always.

~*~*~*~*~*~

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

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

[whumpberry-cookie]

Silent good intentions

(tw: death wish)

__________________

There's the underground organisation that focuses on freeing political prisoners from interrogations.

The thing is, their rules say the members can never ever show their faces during the missions. Or their voices. Or anything that could help indentifying them.

So when Whumpee's carried out of the prison, they instantly lose hope. Because their rescuers don't remove the blindfold. They don't reasure Whumpee. They don't explain where they are taking Whumpee.

And when Whumpee starts fighting, they silently tie them down to a table by legs and wrists.

Even tho new Caretaker tries to treat their wounds the gentlest they can, Whumpee still begs for death, thinking another interrogation is about to begin.

______________

After a long time healing Whumpee is allowed to move around the room. Tho their hands are still tied behind their back, so they don't try to remove the blindfold.

Caretaker feeds them by a spoon in silence.

"...Thank you"

Caretaker just pats their back in responce.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

❤️‍🩹 Rescuing a Stray Whumpee ❤️‍🩹

Maybe it's a cold night. It's raining, or snowing. Caretaker happens to see someone bleeding out in an alleyway. They're all wet and just lying on the ground, crying too much to talk.

Or maybe Caretaker is at a high profile party and whumpee is being tortured for entertainment. Caretaker is sickened and can't just leave them there. So they just...take them. Take them away from all of this.

Carrying whumpee to the car/carriage, badly injured. It's the first physical contact between them. Caretaker wants to hug them but they don't know each other well enough yet. Or maybe whumpee clings to them and that first hug ends up happening anyway.

Driving home with their mind full of thoughts. How is this going to work? What can they do? Does whumpee need a doctor? Maybe it's the middle of the night and they can't get one. A frantic rush through wallgreens or the local apothecary getting medical supplies.

Buying clothes for whumpee, and fresh blankets. "What size shirts do you wear?" Maybe whumpee sleeps in Caretaker's clothes the first night or two. Maybe they get attached to those clothes.

Doing the things that make this transition easier for whumpee. Buying the foods they like best and making sure that every accommodation they need is present.

The time it takes to trust. Maybe whumpee initially thinks they've been captured by someone hostile and doesn't believe Caretaker's explanations. But Caretaker really takes the time to communicate everything effectively. "What can I do to prove to you that it's safe?"

Slowly learning about whumpee. About what happened to them. Maybe the story comes out in pieces, or maybe whumpee is furious and won't stop talking about it.

"If you love them, let them go." Caretaker helps whumpee get back on their feet, seek revenge, get therapy. They watch whumpee become strong again. They're fading away from Caretaker with every step towards independence but it's worth it to see them fulfilled, living the way they Whumpee is so beautiful as a person and Caretaker wants to see them in their full glory.

"If you let them go, they'll come back." Whumpee still wants to be in Caretaker's life. Caretaker is still the one who they come to with problems, the one who saw them at their lowest, the person who sees the deepest and most hidden parts of their soul.

[chiharuuu22]

It's Okay, I Love Everything You Made for Me

Caretaker bit her lower lip while looking at the food ingredients that were in front of her now. Oh, come on. Right now they were on the run and hiding from Whumper, so it was normal that they didn't have an adequate food supply.

However, seeing the various canned and instant foods in front of her frankly made Caretaker disappointed with herself. For her and the team, all these foods are no problem, but do these foods have enough nutrition to restore Whumpee's health?

Canned soup, beef jerky, canned fish and meat, cup fruit, instant cup noodles, white bread, crackers, several types of cookies, energy bars, and nuts. At least, they have a very sufficient water supply.

Caretaker sighed as she looked at the nutrition labels on the food one by one. Her fingers tapped, and she began to mix up what she could make. She didn't want to starve Whumpee any longer.

Some time later, Caretaker was seen bringing the results of her concoction into a room. This abandoned building was very dark, so she relied on the moonlight and was very careful in her steps. She saw several team members on guard and greeted each other quietly, trying not to make a sound while indicating she had plenty of food she had just made so they could recharge before returning to guard.

In one of the resting rooms, Whumpee was seen lying on a thin mat with a jacket folded in such a way as a pillow. A thin blanket covered him from neck to feet. Several other team members were seen sleeping and resting.

"Whumpee, wake up for a moment. You have to eat," said Caretaker quietly while shaking Whumpee's body.

Whumpee's tired eyes opened slowly as he tried to focus. "Caretaker? What time is it? How long have I slept?"

"It's almost midnight, and you've had about three hours of sleep since being rescued," Caretaker answered.

Caretaker helped Whumpee sit an lean in the wall and said, "Here, you should eat and replenish your energy. I also brought you painkillers."

Whumpee nodded, and Caretaker fed him slowly, spoonful by spoonful.

"Sorry, it's just porridge from an instant cup of noodles. I couldn't crush it well. I put in the canned meat too. It's hard to do without proper kitchen tools."

Whumpee shook his head, then smiled at Caretaker. "It's okay; I like everything you make for me."

Caretaker flashed a sad smile and said, "Thank you. I hope you recover soon."

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

whump prompt 159

Whumpee saving themselves, because no one else is coming.

[turn-the-tables-on-them]

Could we see a drabble of what would have happened if Valeria rescued Quill when he was broken but lucid?

Here you are!!

@hollowgast1

Valeria holds her bow firmly in one hand, her knife gripped in the other, ready for a trap behind the door. She pushes it open and darts back, braced, but no attack comes.

She peers inside, easily able to see in the darkness with her catlike vision, and she stalks down the stairs, freezing at a sudden sound.

Quill freezes, so still he’s holding his breath. He strains his ears when he catches the slight sound outside the door, pulse rising as he fears Vera’s return.

He hears the door fly open and he flinches sharply, curling tight against the corner of his cage. She must be angry at him, and that never bodes well.

Footsteps grew louder as they headed down the stairs.

Valeria eyes the cage at the back of the room. It looks like it's made of wooden boards, not metal, and that's a new development from Vera.

The slats obscure most details of the occupant, and Valeria creeps closer, trying to get a better look.

She’s mad, she’s mad, she’s mad, Quill played on repeat, tending as he prepared for the cage to be unlocked and for him to be grabbed roughly.

As she gets closer, Valeria realizes she knows this man, and that reveal is a particular slap to the face.

Then she scoffs, hopping easily up on top of the crate and glaring down at its occupant.

Quill shrinks when he hears the boots right outside his cage, but then the weight is on top of the cage, not outside it, and he can see the face better.

That’s…not Vera.

Oh God.

He tortured Valeria. Her mother is his captor. If she…if– Could she be just as bad as her mom? Was she worse?

She gives a dark, bitter laugh.

"Finally on the wrong side of the chains, huh handsome?" She asks him, rage barely contained.

He’s too terrified to even respond. Quill can feel his limbs trembling, his legs still nothing but a mess of agony and blood. He ducks his head and hides beneath his slightly overgrown hair, closing his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the same look Vera has in Valeria’s eyes.

He hugs his knees to his chest tighter and stays quiet.

"What, nothing to say? I thought you loved to listen to yourself talk." The words are biting, and she slides off the cage and idly glances around the room.

He registers the unspoken command a moment later.

She wants to hear you speak, dumbass.

“I’m s-sorry,” he whispers for a lack of anything better to say. The command was vague and leaves too much room for error. She’s good at this.

She scoffs a laugh.

"You're sorry?" her disbelief is clear.

Then she shrugs.

"Whatever. Where's Flashflood?"

She knows she can't leave him here... but *he* doesn’t need to know that yet, right?

“I- I don’t know. I swear, I don’t,” Quill says quietly, shifting. His eyes absently seek out the spaces between the bars of his cage, looking for other moving figures in case Vera is in that room somewhere and he hasn’t noticed.

She mutters under her breath, and heads back towards the door, ignoring the guilt that scolds her.

He tortured her for his own amusement. Why shouldn't she let him sweat a bit? Besides, for all she knows, he's faking it.

Quill watches her go, dread building with every step she takes away from him.

She hasn’t hurt him yet. Any hell has to be better than this one.

He scrambles up as much as he can, still hunched and curled, and paws against the bars closest to her.

“Val– Valeria! Please,” he says brokenly. “P-please, wait.”

She turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow, and circles back towards him, stopping in front of him.

Quill swallows shakily, eyes dropping to the floor. He can’t meet her gaze.

"What do you want?" She asks him, anger suddenly fading, leaving her body cold and her voice soft.

He shivers at the sound of her voice.

He doesn’t know what he wants.

Yes, he does, he’s just too afraid to ask for it.

“Please…please don’t leave me here…” he whispers, flinching away as he anticipates a strike.

Valeria crouches, unlocking the cage, ready for him to lash out as she pulls the door open.

When no strike comes, she sits back on her heels and gets a better look at his injuries, stomach knotting.

Quill can’t help but accidentally glance at her face when she lowers herself.

He winces, pushing himself back, and waits for her first command. He hasn’t expected her to grant his request, which means he needs to behave perfectly to make up for it.

She winces as she takes in the damage to his legs, pity warring with anger and dragging it under. She slowly, cautiously puts her hand on his cheek, checking for fever... and trying to show the compassion she'd so badly wanted when she was the one hurting.

At his hands.

She swallows, but doesn't pull her hand away.

Quill closes his eyes and lets himself lean into it. He’s never felt a touch like this before.

Valeria absently rubs her thumb over his cheekbone.

"It's alright. I'm getting you out of here."

[whumpy-bi]

I’ll Do It

Words: 1122

Warnings: medical setting, military setting, restraints, non-con drugging

Notes: based on my “whumpee captured in an enemy hospital” post. Also heavily inspired by Star Wars but that context isn’t really necessary.

Whumpee sighed heavily, knocking her head back against the pillow. She knew it had to be morning, based on when she’d woken up, and she expected a soldier to be in with her food in a matter of minutes.

They hadn’t tried to interrogate her in a few days. Her only interactions had been with the doctors who’d periodically check up on her and scold her for fighting the metal cuffs, and the soldiers who’d bring her food and glare at her in silence as they fed her.

Gods, that humiliation made her feel sick with anger every time. She was a grown woman, she didn’t need another grown person to feed her a ration bar by hand. Was she really such a security risk that they couldn’t remove a single shackle so she could eat? Although her enemies were known for their cruelty and harshness—she wasn’t surprised they didn’t care about preserving any of her dignity.

Although, she was still confused about the fact that they’d bothered to treat her concussion and keep her alive in this facility. She’d expected them to simply fire a shot into her skull when they found her unconscious, but…this was unexpected.

She gave an idle tug at the cuffs around her ankles again, sighing in frustration. They hadn’t even bothered to give her socks.

The door slid open without warning, but Whumpee merely closed her eyes for a moment. Finally, the soldier with food.

“Finally, I was getting hungry,” She started. “I hope it’s not—“

She stopped herself, her words catching when she actually saw the new arrival. This man was new.

He wasn’t masked, like everyone else who had been tending to her. He wasn’t dressed for combat or for medical work, either—he wore the light, sharp uniform of a security officer, the colorful rank badge on his chest indicating a status Whumpee couldn’t be sure of. He hadn’t looked at her, instead looking down at the notepad on his hand and pacing over to the monitor beside her bed. From Whumpee’s point of view, he looked younger than most officers she’d seen—closer to her own age. He had bright, knowing eyes, and a sharp jaw that—

The officer briefly glanced up at Whumpee, his eyebrow raising. She’d been staring.

He spoke softly, dryly. “I’m not here to give you your ration, that’s not for another half hour.”

“…R-right. Well—it’s hard to keep track of time here.”

“I’m sure.” He glanced over at her arms as she twisted them again under the cuffs.

He almost sounded casual, to Whumpee. Less clinical than the doctors had been, like she was expected to know him.

“Your reports say you’ve been fighting your cuffs constantly. You shouldn’t—they’re steel, and it’ll just make the doctors more eager to sedate you.”

She frowned and glared at the box of syringes on the side table. Almost as a challenge, she kicked out against the cuffs holding her ankles.

He held back a chuckle. “Guess I should’ve expected that. You’ve had a few outbursts, too, right?”

She ignored the question. “Why are you here? I haven’t seen you before.”

The officer blinked slowly, processing her own question. His expression was strange, unreadable.

“Your interrogations haven’t been very successful, Whumpee. You’ve had aggressive behavior…you’ve refused to answer any questions.”

“You’ll kill me before you get me to tell you anything.”

He nodded, rolling his eyes. The expression made her want to jump off the bed and smack him—which only manifested in another harsh tug at her arms.

“I told you, that won’t help you…” He muttered, glancing over at the monitor. “Would you say you mostly feel recovered?”

“…I don’t know.”

He nodded again, typing something.

“Are you here to hurt me?” Her voice cracked, much to her own embarrassment.

The officer considered that for a moment. “No, I’m not. I’m here to check on you and assess whether you need more personalized questioning. Whether or not that involves pain is—“

“Up to me, I know. You’re all so predictable.”

He suppressed a smirk, shrugging. “That’s also fair. But it’s true. You had a concussion, right?”

“Mm.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’…” He bent down closer, very suddenly entering her direct line of sight. She felt her face heat up, her body immediately beginning to fidget and shift away.

“Relax, I’m checking your eyes. Hold still.”

“Don’t touch me—don’t fucking—“

He sighed, holding a flashlight a few inches from her face. “I won’t need to touch you if you stay still. I’m sure you can handle that, right?”

She scowled, but did as she was told as he pointed the light into her eyes. He seemed to notice something, nodding to himself as he moved away again. Whumpee watched him slowly, clenching her fists and flexing them. Why was he checking her eyes? Only the doctors did that.

The officer opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by one of the doctors rushing in. He was an older man, distinguishable even with a mask on, and he was immediately pouring over the officer’s notes.

“Officer, it’s a pleasure, but—may I ask why you’re here? Has the prisoner been causing problems for you? She’s been particularly aggressive, caused lots of problems. You have permission to sedate her, it could help her learn her place—“

“No, things are fine,” The officer interrupted. “I’m checking to see when we can move her.”

“Well, if your agency is prepared to take her, we’ll happily allow you to—“

“That’s great. Would you mind leaving for now? I still have some things to report.”

He waited until the doctor shut the door again before speaking. Whumpee noticed immediately—his eyes somehow had become softer, his voice suddenly had a wholly different quality underlying it.

“Listen, I know how this sounds. But I’m not actually with the agency. I’m here to get you out, I think you’re physically fit for it now—“ He hesitated for a moment, glancing between her and the monitor.

Whumpee was staring at him with wide eyes. She was struggling to process what he was saying, her mouth suddenly very dry.

“You’re taking me?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m gonna get you back to your people.”

“…Why?”

“Because you need help. And I hate these guys as much as you do.” He kept his voice soft when he addressed her directly, his eyebrows coming together. “I need you to trust me, though. I’m not with them. I’m gonna need you to play along when we get outside, okay?”

He unlocked her cuffs, watching as they popped open and freed her limbs. One final plea for his trust.

Whumpee didn’t move for a few moments, but eventually sat up.

“Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll trust you.”

[chaos-and-codeine]

June of Doom 2024

Day 10 - Can you hear me? (Pt. 1)

@juneofdoom

OC’s: Indy, Bryson

Warnings: unconsciousness, severe pain, fire/smoke, buried, assumed explosion, ambulance

Word count: 653

Summary: Indy is injured in the aftermath of an explosion, her friends get to her and pull her out, but it’s not over yet.

(Part two is coming, but not necessarily as part of June of Doom. But it is coming! Please throw some love to my poor Indy though I make her suffer far more than she deserves.)

It wasn’t quite like falling, unless being yanked upwards into your body counted as such. Every inch on the battered body that Indy had just rejoined was screaming. Her lungs violently took in air without her permission, making the pain spike even higher as she sputtered. No thoughts, just white hot swirling behind her forehead.

“Indy!”

Muffled, stretched sounds thundered in Indy’s ears, mixing with the incessant ringing and aching.

“Indy!”

More noise. More ringing. More spikes of fire through Indy’s chest and head and

e v e r y w h e r e .

“INDY!” The static overlay on the shouted words cut into her mind, “Can you hear me? We’re coming, I promise. Please. Please answer.”

Indy groaned and fought to get her mind back up to her body with the rest of her. She coughed as she pushed herself to the side, struggling to get enough air through the smoke and rubble. She pawed around the dirt, unable to see. Rocks and glass cut into her palm until she finally landed on a dry and cracked block of plastic. She squeezed it hard and brought it to her face as she slumped back into the dirt exhausted.

“I’m here.” She wasn’t sure she’d even said it. She wasn’t sure the words had come out as more than a desperate moan through the radio mic. She let it drop to her chest.

“Indy?” It was still a shout, but now it was hopeful and pleading. She couldn’t pick it back up, the small weight like a brick against her. Her mind was clearer now, but with it was a clearer pain. Air hissed between her teeth as she tried to breathe without coughing again.

Indy startled at the siren sound coming out of her radio. It was still partially in her hand, now sliding off of her toward the ground. The blaring sound continued to twist the knife in her head as gravel began falling around her. She turned her face to the side; squeezed her eyes shut even tighter.

“Indy.”

“Indy.”

Shaking earth. Trembling hands.

“Indy!” The booming voice was now against her, arms lifting her away from the jagged surface beneath. She choked on the fresh wave of fire. Her back touched a slightly smoother ground, a hand still behind her head as she tried to find something to anchor her. A thick mask enveloped her face and suddenly she was lifted again.

“Breathe, Indy. Breathe.” The booming voice was lower now, a comfort instead of another aspect of the chaos. Each jostle sent spikes through her body, but Indy found her anchor in listening to her friend's voice, “We found everyone else, Indy. The whole team is alive. You were the deepest, but we got you. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Bryson! Bus is this way!” A voice shouted, daylight searing through Indy’s eyelids. The smoke was so thick for the few seconds she’d opened her eyes that she forgot that it was still the middle of the day outside.

“Almost there, Indy.” Bryson was at a near jog with Indy slowly fading in his arms. They reached the medibus in under a minute, people surrounding them as they rounded the back.

Indy opened her eyes just enough to look at Bryson as he gently lowered onto a gurney. He smiled, a genuine smile that was simultaneously terrified. He brushed the stray hairs back from her face and helped lift the gurney into the bus. The respirator was pulled off and replaced by an oxygen mask.

And then Indy let her eyes close again. She could feel Bryson’s hand on her head, his thumb gently moving against her hair. She hurt. Everywhere. In the constant motion of the medics around her she lay still and yet in a whirlwind. Until the wind stilled altogether and she let unconsciousness relieve the flames if only just for a little while.

[i-eat-worlds]

Alex and Friends Part Two

More of the story that nobody asked for! Alex punches firsts and asks questions later. cw: cursing, violence, blood, misunderstandings, minor medical stuff “She's gone again,” Eric announced. He was starting to get nervous. What was supposed to be a simple retrieval had gone south very quickly. The point of this had been to get her out before an attack, but they’d been a couple hours too late. Alexis had collapsed, and was currently bleeding out in a hallway.

Eric had become a sort of living heart monitor while Joseph dressed her wound. Eric’s best guess had been that a bullet had grazed her hip. It was bleeding quite a lot though, and it had been for far too long. To make matters worse, she appeared to be borderline hypothermic. Her clothing and her hair were soaked, and she smelled like dirty river. They needed to staunch her bleeding, and get her warmed up before she entered the blood loss-hypothermia death spiral. “Done,” Joseph said, finishing off his bandaging. Alex hadn’t stirred the whole time he’d be bandaging her wound, and he hadn’t been exactly gentle about it. He’d known Eric long enough that he was starting to get worried just about now. Eric started to stand. “Her pulse is getting thready. Let’s get her to the van.”

Joseph scooped her up into bridal carry as Eric talked to Avia, telling her that they were coming. Quickly, they rushed down the stairs. Time was of the essence if they were going to save her.

*** Alex knew that she’d been moved. Even with her brain a million miles away from her body, she could tell. It’d been happening recently, whenever somebody touched her too much. Or at all, really. The only time she could stand physical contact was during a fight. She kind of was glad she wasn’t conscious. Whoever she’d let capture her were people she wasn’t really dying to meet, and this time, her brain had run far enough to escape the pain. Normally it pierced into her brain like shards of broken glass, but today’s void was thankfully pain free.

It was also, surprisingly, warm. Alex had expected it to be cold. The Vltava wasn’t renowned for its warmth, nor for its cleanliness. It suddenly dawned on her that her graze was going to be infected. Almost surely. And it was going to be even harder to nd supplies to treat it with, considering her current captivity. Maybe her captors would give her supplies to treat it with. That required hope, though, which she found scarce at the moment. Alex wasn’t good at hope.

The void was pierced by a distant, faraway voice. “I think she’s waking up.”

The words sent Alex’s heart rate through the ceiling. Were they watching her? Creeps. She made an attempt to pull her eyes open. Nothing happened for what seemed like forever but was probably only a few seconds, but then her eyelids parted to reveal a red-light bathed ceiling. Red light, meant to preserve night vision. Alex had never struggled with that. It looked empty, but then the second man’s face from the hallway entered her vision. At least, Alex thought it was the man from the hallway. Her vision was very blurry from the brightness of the lights.

Ultimately, it wouldn’t have mattered if Santa Claus had appeared over her head, the end result would have been the same. She instinctively reached out to punch the blurry man in the face.

Pulling herself to sitting, Alex freed her hands and let them go straight for his throat. She felt a sting in her arms and side as she moved, but it didn’t stop her. They’d taken her combat knife, but that would only prolong their lives, not save them.

Alex felt whatever gurney they’d had her lying on wiggle as she pushed off it. She took a quick note of surroundings-what appeared to be the back of a van fitted with surveillance equipment, and a rather impressive medical suite. Three other people were already pushing themselves into action. It occurred to her that this was a fight she probably wouldn’t win. She didn’t need to win. She needed to escape.

Alex pivoted, having stunned the man enough that she could make for doors. She darted over the gurney. Before she could escape, a hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled her back. Her stomach caught on the edge of the gurney, and her mouth popped open as the wind was knocked out of her. The impact left her reeling, and that was just enough time for eight hands to seize her, dragging her back onto the gurney. She lay there, panting, willing her lungs to catch air, as the man from the hallway started to speak. “I need you to calm down, Shevchenko. You’re going to injure yourself.” He spoke in a voice that had far too much worry in it. More importantly, however, he’d called her by her name. That was a very, very bad sign.

Alex bucked and fought against her captors. So many hands clamped down hard on her ankles and wrists, holding her arms and thighs. Only one hip was pinned down, her injured one left untouched for some reason. Even then it was too much. “Get fucking off me!” She yelled, trying to wiggle herself free. “I can’t do that until I know you’ll let us help.” He said calmly, his hands still pressed against her shoulders. “We’re INSUPA, we’re your friends.” At first, Alex thought that the INSUPA mention was a lie to get her to calm down. But, when he readjusted his grip on her shoulders, his sleeve moved up just enough to reveal something that made her reconsider. It was a tattoo on the inside of his wrist. It was a stylized olive branch, with an anatomically correct drawing of a heart placed over it. A long time ago, Alex had nearly gotten one of those, before other life events superseded. The unocial INSUPA medical branch logo. “I’m not part of INSUPA. I didn’t call their help line. Why are you here?”

“Albatross, Shevchenko. We’ve been briefed.” The man said, “A supervillain got wind of you, we were sent in to evacuate. My boss was going to meet you in your apartment to chat, but you collapsed.” “Next time, lead with that.” Alex said as she relaxed, exhaustion flooding her veins. The hands released her, and she fell limp. She reminded herself to have a strong word with her handler about the next time they send someone for her.

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps

[lizzyverydizzyyo]

D.E.A.N (Division of Extreme and Atypical Neutralization) - Cast Pictures

Fandom : Original Work

Whumptober 2021/2022/2023 Submission

Masterlist and overall summary of the whole novel is here.

Prompt on trope-appreciation-tuesdays that inspired this is here.

D.E.A.N, also known (or, more fittingly, unknown) as Division of Extreme and Atypical Neutralization, is not part of the police, military, Secret Service, or any other defense and tactical agencies openly acknowledged by the government, although it does include expertly trained personnel from almost all of them. Among those personnel is Marcus Hayden, a young and promising graduate of a highly specialized federal agency training, surreptitiously plucked and dropped into the division—only with the knowledge that D.E.A.N agents have full legal immunity to take down whatever national threat is assigned to them in any way they see fit. Following the demise of his mentor, Mark embraces that freedom and privilege to the fullest extent, destroying any and all rigorously-approved target of D.E.A.N. Even the ones with non-threatening appearance, like the young man left behind by D.E.A.N's current target—a criminal syndicate called Helga—when Mark's team raided one of their many hidey holes. But is he doing the right thing? Is that young man really the target he should be focusing on?

I've finally managed to curate an ensemble cast that looks the closest to what I have in mind when writing the story. Of course, there is just no way I can find people exactly like the ones I have in mind when writing the characters because these characters simply just don't exist in real life, so I can't take pictures of them. I also can't do art to save my life so I can't draw/paint them either. I was thinking about using AI like Artbreeder but I'm kind of iffy about any type of AI right now, so this is the best I've got so far.

Also, this is just my vision. If you imagine someone else when you read about any of the characters, that's okay too. It's up to you, really. These "cast" are just my interpretation of how the characters look like.

CHARACTERS TRAITS AND IMAGES

Nikolai/Nick - Whumpee

Tall (6’2”), 21 years old (as of book 1), mixed-raced (Russian-Vietnamese), short black hair, really thin, mix of blue-brown eyes (sectoral heterochromia). Traits: kidnapped victim and traumatized, kind of obedient but has trace of arrogance and defiance that show up randomly. Cast: Ian Sharp Pic 1 Source from Hermès Fall 2015 RTW Menswear Show | Pic 2 Source (but the link is defunct) | Pic 3 Source (Edited to have a mix of blue-brown eyes, closest real-life person to look like Envy from Demon's Haven—courtesy of @whumpwillow which is my original vision of Nikolai)

Marcus/Mark - Whumper turned (probably) romantic caretaker

Tall (6’4”), 23 years old (as of book 1), white, short blond hair, dark blue eyes, muscular build, masculine look. Traits: righteous and impassioned (sometimes also a bit rash). Cast: Scott Eastwood (but younger) | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source

Luke - Whumper turned caretaker

Tall (as tall as Mark, give or take), late 20s, former Marines, African-American, medium-length afro hair, muscular but lean build. Traits: firm and wise (probably should be the commanding officer). Cast : Busola Peters | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source

Horace - Whumper turned caretaker

Tall (not as tall as Mark though, around 6' to 6'2"), early 40s, Army veteran, Latino, short dark hair, muscular but lean build, clean-shaven. Traits: team's commanding officer, but doesn’t have backbone and a bit of a pushover. Cast: Nicholas Gonzalez | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source

Lena - (Not really) whumper turned caretaker

Tall (5'10" to 5'11"), mid-20s, white, non-binary, long brunette hair, brown eyes, muscular but lean build. Traits: very kind and patient but would fuck shit up if pushed. Cast: Ethel Cain | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source

Don - Whumper turned (not really) caretaker

Mid-height (±5'9"), mid-40s, Navy veteran, white, bald, stocky muscular build. Traits: ruthless, cynical, and a bitch. P.S. I really can't find anyone who fits my vision when it comes to Don's appearance except that guy from vine on a scooter doing drift to careless whispers.

Anna - Whumper turned (not really) caretaker

Short (kinda, ±5'2"—5'4"), early-30s, Air Force veteran, white, short brown hair, muscular but lean build. Traits: cynical and a bitch too, but righteous. Cast: Claire Foy (with brown eyes) | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source

Angie - (Not really) whumper turned caretaker

Mid-height (±5'6"—5'7"), mid-30s, former SWAT, white, short blond hair, a bit "Karen-like" style, muscular build. Traits: impersonal and logical centrist. Cast: Abby from The Last of Us 2 | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source (Edited to look more blond and older). P.S. The mocap actress (Jocelyn Mettler) doesn't look exactly like what I have in mind when it comes to Angie's look, so I keep using the Abby character instead.

Anderson - Whumper turned (kind of) caretaker

Mid-height (±5'9"—5'10"), mid to late-20s, former FBI, Mediterranean, medium-length curly black hair, lean build. Traits: a smartass and confident (almost arrogant) asshole. Cast: Joshua Honecutt | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source (Edited to have darker hair)

George - Non-whumper turned caretaker

Mid-height (±5'9"), early 20s, white, red-haired and freckled, slim build. Traits: quiet/wallflower-y. Cast: Maksymilian Barczak | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source | Modeling Agency Page

Mary - Non-whumper turned caretaker

Mid-height (±5'7"—5'8"), mid-20s, former Air Force, white, feminine pale face, long strawberry-blonde hair, slim build. Traits: quiet/wallflower-y too. Cast: Chloe Grace Moretz | Pic 1 Source | Pic 2 Source

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Dear Whumpee,

I have never craved power before. But now all I want is the power to save you. You, who are so strong, so brave, so deserving. If our roles were reversed, you would save me. But those who seek to destroy you are so powerful. Systems, monsters, leviathans. I am humbled by what you endure.

I don't know if I can do this. But if I can't, I will become someone who can. I will be who I need to be to free you. Your need, that's what defines who I am. I will tear apart my soul if I have to. The only person I want to be is the one who can save you. I am coming.

Love,

Caretaker

[anonfromcanada]

i need help finding a whump series!! from what i remember it was in a medieval type setting where whumpee had been kidnapped by the enemy and tortured "for information" when really the whumpers just enjoyed hurting him, and he was rescued by caretaker who had been sent to save him and they bond

i remember that after they start moving to get back to somewhere safe whumpee is left alone for too long and is kidnapped and sold, caretaker goes after them and finds whumper, finds out who he sold whumpee to and then kills whumper.

and thats all i remember. its driving me crazy that i cant find it and i would really appreciate some help if anyone recognizes this!!

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

whump prompt 002

Whumpee has been convinced that Caretaker is dead or has moved on, so when Caretaker shows up to rescue them, they completely break down.

[chaos-and-codeine]

June of Doom 2024

Day 9 - I made a mistake

OC’s: Dellan, Nate, Raine, Trey

Warnings: Gunshot wound mention, blood, blood loss, near passing out, general panic from the friends, medical help

Word count: 1147

Summary: Nate shows up at the facility a week early with a very injured Raine. Dellan is scared, Nate’s covered in Raine’s blood, and Trey is trying to save a life.

(Obviously this is my first original post, but I hope to introduce you more to these characters later! Just having fun with June of Doom for now!)

Dellan held his pistol towards the ground as he warily watched the small Toyota sedan wind up the drive. No one was due to come in tonight, much less an unregistered car of a visitor. There was never a call from the gate, so either they belonged there enough to have an all access code or they possibly didn’t belong there at all.

So there Dellan stood with his pistol at the ground, unsure whether he should be more or less ready for a fight than he was.

The car got close enough to see that there were at least two people in the front seats, but Dellan still couldn’t see into the back. The headlights burned into his eyes as the car bumped over the cracks on the final curve. Dellan cocked his head as he finally started to make out the silhouettes of his friends' faces. Friends that weren’t supposed to arrive back for at least another week.

“Help now, ask questions later,” Nate started speaking before he was fully out of the driver’s seat, circling around the front hood to the passenger side. He flung open the door to reveal the blood that the night and dirty windshield had yet hidden from Dellan.

“What happened?” Dellan finally managed to say, still trying to comprehend what was unfolding. Nate began to carefully pull the second person, soaked in red, from the car.

“I jacked up,” Raine said through a tight jaw. She put her right arm around Nate as he lifted her out, her other arm held against her, “a stupid mistake and I got made.”

Dellan could feel the urgency squeezing at his chest, but he was still grasping for something solid for his swirling mind. She was talking. She was alert enough to hang on to Nate’s shirt. That was good. She’s not unconscious. She’s not dead.

The amount of blood left on the leather seat brought the next wave of panic. Adrenaline. It could be adrenaline keeping Raine this alert. She might be worse off than it seems. She could be better off.

“Stop overthinking,” Nate kicked the car door shut as he swiveled with Raine in his arms. The slam of the metal made Dellan jump, looking at Nate before taking a shaky, but full, breath. He nodded and Nate started up the steps to the main entrance.

“Nate,” Raine’s voice was painfully soft, her grip loosening on the Nate’s shirt collar. He looked down at her as his pace increased even more.

“Stay awake, Raine. We’re almost there and then we’ll get you taken care of and then you can sleep,” Nate’s words ran together, a mixture of fear and exhaustion as he walked.

“Hurts too much,” Raine hissed, her eyes rolling, but not quite closing. Her eyebrows pulled together, a desperate plea for consciousness to stay a minute more.

Dellan jogged ahead of the pair, his shaking hands threatening to keep him from pressing the right code into the keypad. As if the doors were hesitating with him, they stayed silent for a moment before the click of unlocking echoed through the empty lobby.

Nate nodded his head in thanks as Dellan held open the door. He headed for the left hallway, towards the small trauma bay the facility held, and turned his head as they went, “When we get up there I need you to snap back into it. You’re like her brother; she needs you.”

“Okay,” Dellan squeaked back. He hated how much he was freezing up. He’d seen his fair share of blood. He’d inflicted his fair share of blows and taken enough himself, too. He’d even seen his own team members get hurt before, but this one hit different. Nate was right, they were like siblings. Dellan knew she needed him, but right now he was trembling because he needed her too.

“Okay,” Dellan said again more confidently. He had to shake himself off and get his mind to straighten out. He noticed the blood being trailed behind them and almost caved into himself again, but balled his hands into fist as he skipped ahead of Nate again. He shoved open the door, holding it as they turned into the second door labeled ‘medical’. The unfitting serenity of the empty hallways was replaced by an immediate chaos as they entered.

“What happened?” Trey’s chair hit the cabinet as he bolted up from the desk. He scrubs were wrinkled, a result of the previously relaxed evening. He shouted several names as he rushed toward Raine. Various people came out from where they’d been hanging out, not expecting any commotion. Any of the agents in the field weren’t due back for days and even then all the current jobs weren’t terribly risky.

“Shot twice at least forty minutes ago,” Nate said robotically. His face was pale as Trey motioned for him to set her down on the gurney being pushed up beside them. Raine’s face twisted and she groaned at the movement.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Nate apologized as he removed his arm from behind her.

“It’s good,” She told him, still not wanting anyone to feel bad. Her expression remained tight, showing visibly the growing pain.

“You’re awake?” Trey sounded astonished. He walked alongside the bed as it was briskly pushed toward a room to the left. His hand now replaced Raine’s own, holding pressure with sterile towels against the wounds. He could see her eyes open slightly, flitting between the ceiling and himself.

“Barely,” She said quietly, “Dellan?”

“Yeah,” Dellan’s voice cracked as he moved closer. He watched as the bed was pushed into a bright room and the wheels locked to still it in place. People were moving everywhere, but each one seemed to flow together without interfering with the next.

“I’ll be fine,” Raine was trying to tell Dellan that confidently, but he could hear the question in the statement. She was trying to convince herself too.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Dellan squeezed Raine’s hand as he pulled every ounce of his own confidence, or hope, from the pit of his stomach, “I’ll be right here when you wake up. Trey’s gonna fix you right up and you’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be right as rain.”

Dellan felt a hand on his elbow that gently pulled him towards the door. He let his hand slide off of Raine’s as he reluctantly backed up. He could see Raine’s face calm ever so slightly as the first drug got pushed in. And then the door was shut.

“She’s strong,” Nate said directly to Dellan.

“I know.” Dellan responded, looking back at his friend. He could see the amount of blood on his shirt and arms, some even on the pants now. He could tell Nate saw it too, but neither of them said anything about it. Dellan took a deep breath, “She’ll be right as rain.”