#whump writer

[whump-a-la]

Ok, but language barriers in whump.

Whumper trying to "teach" Whumpee their language, and punishing them when Whumpee doesn't understand.

Caretaker trying to find a common language with Whumpee

Whumper saying things in another language and watching Whumpee prepare for the worst with glee because Whumpee has no idea what they're saying.

There's probably more, and Imma leave that to your imaginations, I was just thinking about this while drafting up a scene, idk.

[mj-iza-writer]

"Whumpee can I see your teddy", Caretaker reached out for it, "it needs to be cleaned, I'll give it right back when it's done."

"No, no please", Whumpee squeezed it tighter, and shook their head.

"I'm sorry Whumpee, but you were very sick last week. I'm pretty sure you have puked on it", Caretaker knelt down beside Whumpee, "I know it's your comfort item, but how about we find something else for a few hours while I take care of Teddy."

"Nuh-uh", Whumpee squirmed away.

"Whumpee, do you want to help me clean it, or we could make cookies while Teddy gets washed", Caretaker rubbed Whumpee's back comfortingly, "I promise Teddy will come right back to you."

A friend of Caretaker's was listening in.

"If I were you I'd take it from them, they're to old to be acting like that. Honestly to old to have a stuffed toy", the friend frowned.

Caretaker watched Whumpee's eyes squeeze shut as tears streamed down their face.

"I think you need to stop freaken talking", Caretaker growled at their friend, "you have no idea what is going on here. Just mind your business, and let me do my job."

Finally, after a few more tears and bartering Caretaker was given Teddy.

Caretaker had promised to make Teddy smell really good, and Whumpee now walked around the house wrapped in giant soft blanket.

Lastly, Caretaker handed Whumpee a bowl of ice cream.

"I still think it would have been easier to take it away, and let them get over it", the friend frowned as Whumpee walked past with the ice cream.

Whumpee stopped and looked at Caretaker.

"Don't worry about them, go eat your ice cream. I started a movie for you", Caretaker slapped their friend in the back of the head.

"Oww", the friend complained.

"Are you dumb?", Caretaker gritted their teeth.

"No, I just...", the friend started.

"Whumpee came here with that toy. The person who hurt them gave it to them to signify that they were done hurting Whumpee", Caretaker sighed, "if they had the teddy bear, they wouldn't be hurt. They were safe. If it was pulled out of their hands, torture was starting. It wouldn't end until the toy was given back to them."

"Do you see what kind of issues could have happened if I just pulled that away from them. What kind of trauma response I would have to deal with for the next several hours", Caretaker looked at the friend, "it does take more time, I'm aware of that. I had to have some losses to get the win of getting that from them."

"You told them it needed to be cleaned and it had puke on it", the friend pointed out, "you knew what was best, and they didn't listen to you."

"You should have seen how bad it was when it first came here", Caretaker sighed, "covered in blood, and probably several other body fluids. It was dirty and absolutely disgusting. They still clung to it. To them, it means safety. It's familiar to them."

The friend still frowned.

"You smoke right? Do you have your box and lighter?", Caretaker stood.

"Feeling like a smoke Caretaker?", the friend chuckled as they pulled out the box and lighter.

Caretaker quickly grabbed the box and lighter and walked away.

The friend followed, "where are you going? You don't smoke."

"I know, just proving a point", Caretaker went into his office and closed the door behind him.

The door was locked before the friend could grab the door knob.

The friend gulped when he heard the heavy safe door slam shut. Caretaker came out soon after.

"Where's my smokes", the friend went into the office and pulled on the safe door, "Caretaker?"

"I figured I knew what was best, so I took them away. You won't like it for a little while, but I'm sure you'll get over it", Caretaker grinned as their friend tried to guess the combination, "you're acting like a child you know, aren't you to old to have a crutch like cigarettes."

"Okay, okay, you've made your point. I'm sorry", the friend frowned, "can I have my smokes back now?"

Caretaker grinned as he pulled the cigarettes and lighter from his back pocket.

"That's cold", the friend frowned as they grabbed their things back."

"What's cold is telling a trauma survivor, one who has been through so much more than what we will ever know about, that they need to grow up", Caretaker frowned, "have some sympathy."

Caretaker heard the timer for the teddy's wash go off.

"You could have easily went out and bought another pack and lighter. You would have soon forgotten I had those", Caretaker sighed, "Whumpee doesn't get that luxury."

Whumpee rounded the corner, "is Teddy done?"

"Not quite Whumpee, I just need to dry him", Caretaker held up a few scent capsules, "which smell do you like?"

Whumpee smelt every capsule twice until they picked one.

"Good choice Whumpee", Caretaker smiled, "I promise thirty minutes you will have Teddy back."

Whumpee nodded and sat beside the dryer.

"Can I wait here?", Whumpee's lip quivered.

"Yes, you can. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me", the friend followed Caretaker.

"So what did we learn here?", Caretaker looked at his friend.

"That I shouldn't judge. And, that you have a harder job than what I realized", the friend sighed.

"I think you owe Whumpee am apology", Caretaker frowned, "that was quite mean of you to act like that when you didn't know the whole story."

"Caretaker?", the friend frowned.

"No, no", Caretaker waved in disgust, "you know I am protective of my patients that stay with me, if you can not make yourself safe to be around, you will not be welcomed in my house when I have patients here."

"Okay, okay", the friend sighed, then turned to walk back to Whumpee.

They rounded the corner in time to see Whumpee wiping away a tear.

Whumpee looked at them nervously.

"I'm sorry for being mean earlier, Caretaker explained the importance of that bear. I'm sorry if I caused you any flashbacks", the friend tried to make a comforting smile.

Whumpee nodded, "thankyou", they whispered.

The dryer dinged, causing Caretaker to quickly walk in.

"Alright let's see", Caretaker opened the dryer.

They carefully pulled Teddy out and handed it to Whumpee, "I made sure to use the gentlest wash and dry cycles."

"Careful Whumpee, we have another hole to patch", Caretaker frowned as they looked into the dryer to see clumps of cotton.

"Another hole?", Caretaker's friend eyed Whumpee.

"Yes Teddy is well loved, they need some patching every once in a while", Caretaker sighed, "Whumpee do you want to fix it now or later."

Whumpee gently cuddled their face into the toy, they took in the warmth and scent.

Whumpee's body shook, "what if... what if there is a time Teddy can't be fixed? What do I do then?"

"We will have to figure something else out then", Caretaker frowned, "I'll try my best to make sure that doesn't happen. Here come help me, you can hold Teddy's hand while I sew."

The next day Caretaker's friend called.

"Hey I have an idea, do you think Whumpee could go to the mall", the friend asked.

"They can, though they are having a hard day, so they will need their wheelchair", Caretaker smiled, "what are you thinking?"

"It's a surprise, can you meet me their with Whumpee", the friend asked.

"Yeah, I can do that. Whumpee probably wouldn't mind getting out, they've been distraught because of Teddy", Caretaker stood, "see you soon."

Caretaker pushed Whumpee through the mall until they found their friend.

"Hey Whumpee", the friend knelt down to eye level with Whumpee and smiled, "Caretaker", they then looked up.

"Hello", Whumpee whispered.

"Whumpee is being extra brave right now. They decided to let Teddy stay at home to rest", Caretaker gently rubbed Whumpee's shoulder.

"That is very brave.... I know that now", the friend smiled and patted Whumpee's leg.

"So we are both curious. What brings us to the mall?", Caretaker smiled.

"I had this thought last night while I was looking at online pictures of my niece and nephew celebrating their birthdays", the friend stood.

"There is a store here where you pick a stuffed toy and they stuff it for you", the friend smiled, "I was hoping you would allow me to buy one for you. You could pick whatever you like. There are even some cute outfits to dress the stuffie in."

"But what about Teddy?", Whumpee whispered.

"This will not replace Teddy at all, but maybe give them a little break", the friend smiled, "you're also trauma bonded to Teddy, maybe you are holding onto a lot of bad memories. Maybe a new stuffie will help you move forward in your healing, and you can make new memories."

"B-but Teddy deserves to heal with me also. They went through everything I went through, then helped me", Whumpee let out a small sob, "I don't want Teddy to be forgotten."

"We will never forget Teddy" Caretaker quickly came around, "I promise Teddy will never be forgotten. Can you take a deep breath for me."

Whumpee nodded and took a shaky breath.

"How about this", Caretaker smiled, "we can set up a place for Teddy. A place of honor. Teddy will be able to watch over you, and you will be able to get them at all times."

"We can even pick out a stuffie for Teddy to cuddle, and they can start healing as well", the friend smiled.

Whumpee thought for a second before nodding, "I-I think Teddy might like that."

"Yeah?", the friend smiled.

Whumpee nodded with a weak smile.

The friend looked up at Caretaker and smiled.

Caretaker smiled back and nodded, "you might have it in you to be a caregiver yourself."

"I don't know about that", the friend started to wall and Caretaker followed pushing the wheelchair with Whumpee, "I don't think I would be able to do what you do. I'm sorry I just now figured that out."

"That's alright", Caretaker winked.

Whumpee shook as they walked toward the different stuffie options the store had.

Caretaker helped hold them up as they looked.

"You said they were having a hard day today... I didn't realize", their friend followed with the wheelchair.

"Yes, Whumpee has good days when they can get around just fine. Days like today, their body just doesn't have enough strength", Caretaker continued supporting Whumpee, "their captors did a lot of bad things to them. Their body had to hold up to a lot of abuse, and it's broken."

Caretaker watched Whumpee, "are you doing alright? Do you want to sit down?"

"I-I think I should", Whumpee wobbled forward, but Caretaker held them up.

"Do you see any you like?", the friend held the chair still while Whumpee sat down.

Whumpee nodded, "uhm, I keep looking at that tan bear. It kind of looks like Teddy."

"It does?" the friend went back to look. They thought about the old bear.

"Well I guess what Teddy used to look like", Whumpee was pushed closer.

"This one?", the friend held it up.

"Yes, but are you sure about this?", Whumpee whispered, "you don't have to."

"No, I would absolutely love to get this for you", the friend smiled as they handed the bear to Whumpee, "I was very mean to you yesterday, and I feel bad that Teddy is falling apart on you. Are you sure this is the one you like though?"

Whumpee looked it over, then nodded, "yes... please."

Whumpee helped push the peddle to stuff the bear, and followed the instructions on the heart.

"Give it a big squeeze to see if you like it", Caretaker smiled.

Whumpee squeezed it tightly.

"How does it feel?", the friend watched.

They both watched as Whumpee began to cry.

"Good", Whumpee whispered, "really good, thankyou so much."

Whumpee didn't pick out any clothes until the friend pulled down a shirt that said °Emotional Support Bear°

Whumpee giggled lightly and then nodded.

Caretaker had just covered Whumpee with a blanket when they heard their phone vibrate.

"How are they doing?", their friend had texted, "did the bear work out?"

Caretaker grinned as they sat down across from Whumpee.

They looked up and watched Whumpee's chest rise and fall. They were deep asleep now. The new bear cuddled tightly in their arms.

They snapped a picture and sent it to their friend.

"I can't tell how much this meant to them", Caretaker wiped a tear away from their eye, "you helped them take a big step forward in their recovery. As their caregiver and your friend, thankyou so much for helping heal them."

"You're welcome, I'm glad I was able to do that for them and for you", the friend replied, "have a good night."

"You too", Caretaker stood and retrieved Teddy.

"Alright my dear friend", Caretaker gently carried Teddy to a shelf Whumpee had agreed on.

This shelf overlooked Whumpee's bed, and they would have easy access if they ever needed extra comfort from Teddy.

Caretaker sat Teddy in a weaved basket chair. They rested Teddy's head on a pillow. Lastly, they pulled out the stuffed toy Whumpee had picked for Teddy, and cuddled the arms around the toy.

"Rest well Teddy, you did a good job protecting them. It's my turn now", Caretaker poked the bears faded nose, "I promise they will heal."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst

@generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee

@expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas @lumpofsand

@watermeezer @indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains @3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe @whumprince @kaz-of-crows

[defire]

So it frustrates me (in whump movie scenes) when you can tell the actor has never been in this kind of pain before (or at least they're not translating it to the scene!)

Like.

Caning. Whumper should yelp and flinch, then groan and cover the spot protectively afterward.

Whipping, whumpee should should SCREAM. Do a lot of shrieking and then shudder and whimper and huddle into yourself.

Also the pain BUILDS. Even if they don't strike the same spot (they probably will though).

If whumpee is trying to be stoic, what are they doing to hold in their screams? Gripping a chair leg? Holding their breath? Cursing? At every blow, they're still going to wince, flinch, clench their fingers and toes, hyperventilate, and every other reflex your body does to get you away from danger. and if they have to hold a position they WILL be shaking by the end.

Gun pointed at they're head? Flinch. Look away for a second. Something to show that they're scared of dying or AT LEAST scared of the pain on the way.

Got cut? That pain often comes in waves (especially with infection!) so they'll be talking, then they'll wince and grab the spot with a grunt of pain, then like, "shhit." or something. Grab another shot of whiskey.

And sudden traumatic injuries they've never had before, yes, they can walk it off for a minute, if the limb is mostly functional. But as soon as that adrenaline fades and they feel like it's safe, they are going to drop, screaming.

Tied up. The instinctive reaction is a quick tug at the bonds and then start panicking at having their arms trapped.

On that note: with their ankles and wrists tied behind them, you may still be able to roll just as fast as crawling!

Also a note for whumpers, if you're threatening whumpee with a stiletto:

You are threatening to STAB into the SIDE of their neck, not slice their throat across the front!! You also want to keep them very close to you (manhandle them!) so they can't worm out of your grasp while you're threatening them. Think like a hug. <3

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whump writers, reblog and describe one of your go-to whump scenarios to write about!

I’ll start:

I always love a good captivity scene with chains and Gothic vibes, preferably with a beautiful man in distress 🖤

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Since I've seen an uptick in people trying to gatekeep whump again...

You don't need to have experienced any of the things you want to write to be given "permission" to write it.

Yes, many of us with cPTSD/PTSD/Any and All Traumas/Disabilities/etc etc etc write whump and find it cathartic, me included.

THESE ARE NOT A REQUIREMENT TO WRITE AND ENJOY WHUMP. OF ANY TROPE.

The only person who's work you can gatekeep is your own. YOU CANNOT CONTROL WHAT ANY OTHER PERSON CHOOSES TO WRITE OR READ.

YOU DO NOT GET TO CONTROL OTHER PEOPLE, FULL STOP.

But hey, if you want to explore controlling what others do, then I have a Whump trope or two you may enjoy writing to process that.

At the end of the day, fiction is fiction. Stories have existed since the dawn of time and trying to control what others write is impossible.

Those stories still exist even if merely in our minds or written but never posted.

These stories will exist with or without your gatekeeping.

Do I agree if you are writing a specific trope you have never experienced, such as one that relates to physical disability or a mental health diagnosis, then you should research that to ensure you're not writing it in a harmfully stereotypical manner? (Looking at you, Dissociative Identity Disorder and "Split")

Yeh, that would be awesome, I personally think you should, but my own thoughts on the matter do not have any baring on anyone but myself. Researching tropes and being mindful of how we write them is not a requirement either way regardless of my own thoughts. This is fiction, the rules are what we make of it.

Stop trying to tell people they cannot write things you personally don't want them to.

[natt-writes]

~7 tips for stay focused while writing.~

1. Make sure to drink lots of water/tea and have a healthy meal shortly before. This will help to nourish your brain, which in turn will help you to write and stay focused.

2. Find a calm, comfortable location. Stay away from places with lots of sounds and distractions, instead try to find somewhere that you can relax and enjoy the writing process. It’s even better when the location has dim lights.

3. Exercise shorty before. just going on a walk down your street and back or going on the treadmill for five minutes can help to get rid of excess energy and make you less restless and distracted.

4. Set up a reward system. Maybe have a small piece of candy after every two sentences, watch an episode of tv every time you finish a paragraph, or do a fun activity after every chapter. This will help motivate you to finish up your work for the day.

5. Set a daily word count. Setting a daily word count can help you to feel like you’ve achieved your goals, even if they are small. Start with a couple hundred words each day and then work your way up to your desired amount. Checking how close you are to achieving your daily word count can help you to feel more more motivated and productive. (I use nanowrimo.org but you can use whatever work tracker you want!)

6. Listen to music. I like to listen to music that suits the tone of the chapter I’m writing, as it can help you to feel more immersed and focused. It’s best to listen to the music on a lower volume so that it doesn’t overwhelm you and just blends into the background.

7. Be gentle with yourself. Not every day is going to be amazingly productive. Everyone has days where they are distracted or don’t get much work done. Don’t beat yourself up about it and instead try to relax, have a nice day and get a good nights sleep. You’re doing really great, You deserve to take a self care day!

[whumpy-galaxy]

I’ve seen people saying NOT to use general tags like ‘amputations’ so other people can use them, and to instead use things like ‘amputation whump’, but I’ve also seen people saying TO use general tags so they’re hidden if people have those tags filtered. Which should we be doing?

[whumpsandwhimpers]

Whumpuary 30 - Community Prompt: Make a Whump Meme

Hehe, so there's a lot of us that have our own favorite whumpee blorbos, right?

Here's a meme dedicated to that:

Now for me specifically, here's my version, with my favorite blorbo to whump:

Template version for you guys to do for your own blorbos, under the cut! (just tag me because I wanna see!)

@whumpuary

[whump-a-la]

"Hey, you awake?"

Whumpee shuddered, trying to turn their head away. Gritting their teeth, they tried to ignore the feeling of Whumper's ice-cold hands on their skin, lingering by a large cut that was still bleeding sluggishly.

"I know you're awake," Whumper whispered, digging their sharp fingernails into Whumpee's cut. Whumpee screamed, every muscle in their body tensing at the pain and Whumper's touch.

"Knew it," Whumper smirked, turning away.

[mj-iza-writer]

"Why are you pulling away from me?", Whumper pulled Whumpee's leash harshly making them fall forward, "whatever is going on better stop before you get punished."

Whumpee whimpered as Whumper grabbed their collar and pulled them close.

"Please", Whumpee gulped, "please don't hurt me, I-I'm I'm", Whumpee started to stutter and shake.

"You're what?", Whumper impatiently pulled Whumpee until they were face to face.

"I'm nasty, and-and dirty. I think I smell", Whumpee gasped as the collar tightened.

Whumper looked at Whumpee with disgust, "what did you say?"

"I saw myself in the mirror earlier. How can you be okay with touching me and being near me", Whumpee gasped, "I-I can't breath very well."

Whumper realized and released their grip on the collar.

Whumpee fell down into Whumper's lap and scrambled to the floor to get away.

"Do I own you?", Whumper sat back.

"Huh?", Whumpee looked up in fear.

"Do I own you?", Whumper repeated, "is that not my collar around your neck?"

"Ye-yes master", Whumpee looked down and began fiddling with the dog tag.

"Are you saying I own things that smell and are dirty?", Whumper frowned, "is that a thing you should say about your master? That they own something gross."

"I-I'm sorry", Whumpee bowed, "I didn't mean it like that. I just..."

"It's not a pets place to say that they are dirty, it's their Master's place", Whumper sighed, "you are not allowed to have such human thoughts. Am I clear?"

"Y-yes Master, please forgive me", Whumpee kept their face into the carpet.

"Remember what belongs to me can't be dirty", Whumper lifted their leg and rested their foot on Whumpee's head, "am I clear?"

"Y-yes mas-master, please have mercy on me", Whumpee pleaded, face now shoved into the carpet by Whumper's foot.

A while later Whumper stood from their seat.

Whumpee shyly watched from the corner of their eye as Whumper left the room.

'They're mad at me', Whumpee sighed to themself, 'I'm an idiot.'

Whumpee heard water running, it sounded like it was coming from the bathroom.

'Here comes my punishment', Whumpee groaned, 'I wonder if it will be scolding hot or ice cold', Whumpee almost wanted to run to Whumper to plead for forgiveness, 'will they hose me down, make me sit in it, or hold me under', these thoughts made Whumpee shake.

"Come"

Whumpee shook their head a little to get rid of the thoughts.

"Are you deaf? Come here", came the command again.

Whumpee quickly looked over to where the voice was coming.

Whumper stood with their hands on their hips, making their impatience known.

Whumpee quickly crawled to Whumper.

"About time", Whumper sighed, "you were thinking again, weren't you?"

"Yes Master, I'm sorry. I was just thinking of all the ways you were going to punish me. I hope I may find grace in your eyes, please", Whumpee begged.

"I'm not going to punish you", Whumper sighed, "I considered your feelings, and have decided to let you have a bath."

Whumpee looked at Whumper in shock.

"You mean it Master?", Whumpee couldn't believe what they had heard.

"Follow me", Whumper led the way to the bathroom.

Whumpee looked into the tub and saw a bath had been drawn with bubbles.

"These are for your hair and of course soap. Do you need any help, or can you manage?", Whumper pulled out a towel and wash cloth from a closet, "you can take as much time as you like."

"I can do it Master", Whumpee happily looked at Whumper, "thankyou so much for allowing me to clean up."

"You're welcome. I'll allow you to have a spa day once in a while as a treat that you must earn for good behavior. The better you are, the more I will add for you to enjoy", Whumper frowned, "I will help with your teeth and nails as I normally do, the rest you can do for yourself. I will continue taking care of your hair as well."

Whumpee nodded, "I could hug you right now, this means so much."

"I'd rather you didn't", Whumper frowned, "I'll be in the living room. Come find me when you're all done."

With that, the door was closed and Whumpee was alone.

They reached their arm into the water. It felt so warm, it sent goosebumps down their body.

They climbed into the tub and just sat in the water for a while. The bubbles sizzled on their skin.

A few more minutes passed, and they started to clean themself. They scrubbed every body part they could reach.

"This feels so good", Whumpee sighed in relief.

When the water started to cool, they unplugged the tub and watched the water level go down. They frowned at how much dirt and grime had come off.

Whumpee turned on the shower head and started to clean their hair.

When satisfied they lathered up their body one last time, and did their final rinse.

Whumpee dried themself with the towel, then wrapped the towel around their soaked hair.

They fiddled with their collar for a while. The thing was soaked, but Whumper didn't remove it, and they had no right to remove it on their own.

"Master didn't leave a brush for me", Whumpee looked around, "they did say they wanted to continue taking care of my hair."

Whumpee opened the bathroom door and got down to crawl.

Whumper smiled as Whumpee rounded the corner.

"Feeling better?", Whumper sat up.

"Y-yes master", Whumpee crawled to Whumper's legs and happily nudged their head against Whumper, "thankyou so much."

"Good, go ahead and sit down", Whumper pointed then reached for the brush, "I'll brush out your hair."

Whumper unwrapped the towel from Whumpee's hair and watched it fall to Whumpee's shoulders.

"I will admit you do smell better", Whumper started to run the brush through the damp hair, "I suppose that's nice."

"Did your pet have a good idea Master?" Whumpee looked up at Whumper, "I hope I did."

"Yes I suppose you were due for a wash", Whumper untangled some of the hair, "did you enjoy the bubbles?"

"Yes Master, they felt good", Whumpee looked up at Whumper again, "it all felt good."

"That's good", Whumper continued to brush until they were satisfied, "your hair feels softer as well."

Whumper eyed the collar, "I forgot to take this off, it's wet", they reached for the clasp and removed it, "we'll let this dry for a while."

Whumpee happily nudged their head against Whumper's leg again.

"I guess you are feeling better", Whumper leaned back, "climb up here, come on. I'm sure you would love a nap after that shower. Too much for a dog to do in an afternoon."

Whumpee did as they were told and climbed up onto the furniture. They rested their head on Whumper's lap.

Whumper patted Whumpee's head for a few minutes before resting their hand on Whumpee's back.

"My silly little pet having human thoughts", Whumper chuckled, "that stupid brain of yours should only worry about pleasing me, that's all it's good for."

Whumpee gently nodded, "yes Master, please forgive me", Whumpee whispered, "I will work hard and be a good pet for you Master."

"Very good", Whumper grinned, "now go to sleep."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

[whumping-valentine]

⚓️ Washed Ashore - Part One: "The Docks" ⚓️

Content: Aftermath of a shipwreck, blood loss, non-sexual nudity, transmasc he/they whumpee, accidently outed, caretaker turned whumper.

Re-writing that one sailor whumpee thing I did and then completing it, lol.

WARNING: This story will contain EXPLICIT non-con / rape / nsfw / slavery. If you are not into that, I wouldn't start reading this. But if you ARE then WELCOME!

Likes, reblogs, comments, and ramblings about your thoughts are very welcome! Let me know if you enjoyed it!!

Also yeah yeah yeah another character named Rudy I just like the name okay lol

------ 🌊 ------

The late evening air was warm, yet winds blew cold against the skin, carrying with it specks of sand and the smell of the salty seaside. A feeble sailor laid dazed on the shore, squishy wet sand seeping through their squeezing fingertips. The ocean waves crashed against them, lapping them over and over, just barely reaching their face, preventing them from drowning.

Their head was tilted to the side as they laid face down in the wet sand, seagulls sat around them like they were nothing more than a rock, covered in seaweed just like all the others. The sound of the birds and waves was so normal and mundane. So quiet and calm, one would never guess a horrendous storm just occurred less than an hour prior. The order of the world continued on, despite the broken human that lay unconscious on the bleak shoreline.

Afterall, why would nature care about such a creature? The waves were the very thing that brought them here in the first place. Nature is uncaring, unfeeling, and unpredictable. It goes on despite the travesty that just took place. Despite the horror it just caused. The seagulls didn't care, nor did the shores. just another death of a man who wouldn't— couldn't—stay on land.

It was just another death…

…Or at least it was until they finally opened their eyes.

Their muscles ached with the various bruises that coated their skin, grains of sand uncomfortably covering their whole body. The grains were in their hair, clothes, and even eyes as a horrid stinging pain arose. Instinctively, they moved their hands to wipe their eyes, only getting more sand in them from their wet, muddy hands. They kept their eyes squeezed shut as a pounding headache began to form.

As they gained consciousness, more and more afflictions rose to their attention. The nausea, the sharp pains, the bruises, their dry, scratchy throat. The scars and scratches that covered their dirty skin, seasalt seeping into their open wounds.

Using the ocean water to rinse their face of sand, they painfully blinked their eyes open, the salt not doing them any favors. The skies were dark and cloudy with not a speck of light shining through them. The grey heavens rumbled with thunder, soon to storm. Though that didn't make much sense.

It already rained, the sailor thought as memories returned. They were shipwrecked in a sudden sea storm— a bit too sudden if you ask them. Whatever, it didn't matter. The only thing that does is the now; they are alive.

They took a breath, and with shaking arms they pushed themself to their stumbling feet, feeling dizzy and lightheaded. Their head was pounding, so they kept it low, their eyes squeezed shut as they held their hand to their forehead, limping across the beach in bare, swaying feet.

They could feel raindrops begin to hit against them, so they opened their eyes and lifted their head. They jumped back in surprise, letting out a yelp. Directly in front of them stood a tall figure, wearing a cloak, face covered, pale knuckles clutching onto the wooden pole of a lantern they carried. If the sailor were any more delirious, they may have thought them to be the grim reaper.

The dazed sailor furrowed their brow and blinked, wondering if it were some kind of hallucination. They spoke in a delirious mumble. "Wha— who— who are yo—?"

"You're bleeding." The figure said, cutting them off. Despite the lapping waves nearby and the softly falling rain, his voice sounded loud and isolated. It was devoid of emotion, just a simple, straight-to-the-point statement.

"Wha— what? N-no I'm n—" The sailor refuted, but the man used the stick end of the pole to pull back their navy blue coat. It revealed a large gash across their stomach, ripping through their blood-soaked button-up shirt.

"You've left a trail of blood behind you." He said, and the sailor turned their head to look at the bloodsoaked shore, then back at the figure, "You're going to bleed out."

The severity of the blood loss suddenly hit them, causing their legs to buckle from under them, almost fainting, yet not quite. Simply they were so lightheaded they couldn't think nor move, consciousness shifting in and out like the flow of the ocean waves. The cloaked man caught them, hardly even wavering himself from the force.

When the sailor came back to reality, they awoke in an unfamiliar room. Feeling sick, dizzy, and dazed, they were wildly confused on their whereabouts. With a pounding head and tired eyes, they looked around the room, squinting from both the pain and the darkness of the room. The only light came from a flickering gas lamp that sat on a stack of leather bound briefcases.

It appeared to be roundish, immediately clocking it as some live-in lighthouse like many the sailor had seen before. The walls were made of stone bricks, rough and compact, the floor and ceiling a dark, dirty pine wood. The room was cold, and had minimal furniture. They shivered and clutched the thin quilt that was laid overtop of them, bringing their attention to their physical state.

They were laying on a firm, springy mattress, noticeably cheap and uncomfortable. They moved the quilt to take a peek at their abdomen, lifting their shirt. Their wound was bandaged and soaked with blood, wrapping around their torso.

They moved, and winced at the stabbing in their abdomen, the shock wearing off as their body throbbed with various aches and pains. They took in a breath and let it out, trying to relax and soothe the pain. The air smelt wet and musty. They held back the urge to cough and sneeze, knowing any movement would bring pain.

The soft sound of footsteps came from beyond the wooden door, muffled and creaking. The knob turned and in entered the same figure from the shore, though now he looked a lot more like a man without the cover of his hood. He walked over to Rudy, who sat up in fear, letting out a groan of pain.

"Careful now." The man spoke, putting a hand to their chest as he pushed them back down, "Don't hurt yourself any further, you need to rest. You had a lot of nasty marks after that wreck. You're very lucky I was there to help."

"Where... where am I?" The sailor blinked as he looked around the room, gathering his bearings.

"In my lighthouse. I'm the keeper here on these shores, and these shores have many stories to tell." He said, sitting down on the edge of the bed, "Now, yours is one of them."

"One of many, I'm sure." His mind became clearer, "All sailors, pirates, and lighthouse keepers have stories to tell. Such is the sea."

"Mm, well I'm sure you have no stories quite like mine, quite like this. Each storm here tells one. And they're much more than mere stories."

"How so?"

"The weather of this coast is caused by the merfolk. They rest in these waters, and can control the skies. They like to sink the ships of those who sail too deep into their turf. Like you."

"Merfolk?" The sailor scoffed, "Ah, great. My life is in the hands of a crazy lighthouse keeper."

"A lighthouse keeper, yes, but I'd think twice about calling me crazy." He said as he proceeded to lay the old quilt back overtop them. "For one, I ain't crazy. For two, it's as you said, your life is in my hands. I could leave you to bleed out on that shore if I really wanted to, it makes no difference to me. Though then again, I quite appreciate the company."

"Hmph. Well, thanks, I guess. No, just— thank you. I— I'm still a bit... dazed. That storm came out of nowhere."

"It's as I said, sweet sailor. Merfolk don't take too kindly to humans out here. They're actually a kind of fairy, you know? Yeah. They ain't all what they appear to be. You can never be too careful out here. What's your name, if I may ask?"

"Rudy." They whispered weakly, "What about you?"

The lighthouse keeper pulled their mask down, and smiled, "Lane."

"Well, t-thank you again, Lane."

"It isn't a problem, believe me. All you need to do is rest up. The sooner you're well, the sooner we can look into getting you out of here, yeah?"

"That would be ideal." Rudy agreed.

-----

The young sailor had spent the night lying on their back, staring at the ceiling. It was quite uncomfortable, that rickety old bed. Not to mention how sore they felt, or the sharp pains in their side now that all their adrenaline had worn off.

The room was quite cold, and contained only a small window, occasionally filling with subtle light as it spinned around the lighthouse. Being able to faintly hear the ocean through the thick walls, they lulled themself to sleep.

The next morning they awoke to the sound of metal against wood. They opened their eyes to see Lane setting a tray on the bedside table.

"Sleep well?" He asked.

"I slept... okay." Rudy answered, "It was a bit cold."

“Yes, it can get quite cold. Unfortunately, I have no other blankets to give you. You sound sick.”

“My throat’s been a bit scratchy.”

Lane pulled a wooden chair next to the bed, “Drink the tea.”

Rudy carefully sat up, wincing as he grit his teeth in pain. He let out a mix of a sigh and moan as he relaxed into place. He carefully grabbed the porcelain cup from Lane, taking small sips. “Thank you.”

“It isn’t a problem. Drink and eat. I’ll be back to change your bandages.” He stood up.

“Oh, uh, wait–”

“Yes?”

“I uh, need– can I use the bathroom first?”

“Yes, of course. You also could use a proper bath. I cleaned you up while you were unconscious, but that ain’t the same as bathing, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. That would be nice— if you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I did. Take my hand. Careful.” Lane said, offering a hand for support. Rudy grabbed onto him and slowly got himself to his wobbling feet, leaning heavily against the lighthouse keeper. To Rudy’s surprise, Lane leaned to link an arm under his legs, picking him up bridal style. It happened quickly and with ease. He carried him off to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, Lane carefully set Rudy down to the floor. He winced at the cold tile beneath his bare feet. Without asking or warning him beforehand, Lane unbuttoned his pants for him.

“H-hey—” Rudy stuttered in surprise. “I can do that myself…”

“But you can’t bend over to pull them down.” Lane said, yanking them to the floor. Rudy tensed and squeezed his eyes shut. “Where’s your dick?” Lane asked bluntly.

“I, uh— I’m— transgender.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Oh, I, uh— it means I was— born a girl but now I’m a guy…” he stammered, slightly shaking, unsure of how it would be taken. Maybe it wasn’t the best description, but it was the most basic.

“Well, can’t say I’ve seen that before.”

“What, are you living under a rock?”

“I’m living on a rock, thanks.” Lane said before gently helping him sit.

Rudy was quite uncomfortable about him staying in the room while he did his business, but he was even more uncomfortable after being outed, so he didn’t argue. When he was done Lane got him undressed, unwrapped his bandages, and helped him into the tub.

Rudy winced and softly moaned as he carefully lowered himself into the tub. The warm water of the bath felt so good on his cold, roughed skin. It was so nice he let himself relax, heat soothing his muscles. He closed his eyes and let Lane bathe him, and dry him, and dress him, and carry him back to bed. Neither spoke a word, Rudy going along with whatever Lane did.

Once in bed, Lane rebandaged his wound to make sure it stayed clean, It was only now that Rudy noticed it was stitched. Lane left him to himself, where he finished the bread and tea from breakfast, not caring if it had gone cold. He realized he was starving.

They were up quite early the next day. Their body was still sore, but that wasn't anything they couldn't handle. Besides, they were starving, and were hungry for more than the lighthouse keeper's tea and biscuits.

"The Docks aren't the friendliest of places, you know." The Lighthouse keeper warned the sailor about to leave. It was only a few days after their shipwreck, and out of all the many sea travelers he's seen, never has the old keeper encountered one quite like this. Already so eager to leave despite their condition.

Rudy stopped in their tracks, hand on the cold iron doorknob. They turned around, "What do you mean by that?"

"What else is there to mean? The pirates in town are rough and tumble, and I'm just not so sure they'll take too kindly to the foreign, bruised, washed-up sailor stumbling around their town." Lane closed their eyes, taking a slow sip of their tea. "Mm. Besides, they all know about you. The Boy in the Boat, they've been calling you. Found your little pathetic board smashed out on the rocks. Not much of a boat now, is it?"

"So you pull me in off the shores just to insult me?"

"Mm, yeah, pretty much." A sly smile appeared on Lane's face. "People often find my hospitality comes with a price. But hey! I pulled you off the shores, bandaged your wounds, and gave you a place to stay, which isn't how most folks around here would treat your kind, I'll tell you that much. Though I know sailors don't take too kindly to folks badmouthing their ships— even if she is nothing more than plywood now."

Rudy rolled their eyes, "Well, thanks for saving me, but our short paths end here. You can quit your yapping."

"Farewell, sea fairer. But there is one thing you should know—"

Rudy opened the door, and was greeted to a horrendous downpour, and a perfect strike of lightning.

Lane smiled, and finished their sentence, "—These docks are ruled by the sea."

-----

The old keeper was quite surprised when the young sailor actually went out into the storm, and with no hesitation, at that. Suppose that kind of stupidity is exactly what got them crashed here in the first place.

It didn't matter, though. They'll be back, and they'll have questions. It was only a matter of time now, and the keeper was a patient man. He chuckled to himself as the sailor shut the door, waiting for them to return a wet dog. It'll happen soon enough.

Rudy was never one to care of storms. He'd sit in the mud during a downpour, run across the beaches in a hurricane, and hoist his sails in a thunderstorm. He lived for the clouds, the sea, and the storms. People called him crazy and reckless, but he would never see it that way. After all, he always said:

If you don't die on a boat in the middle of a thunderstorm, did you ever truly live?

He made his way off the rocky shores of the Lighthouse, despite the crashing waves hitting his feet. They knocked him over quite a few times, but a face full a' sea water n' a rock jammed in his side weren't any new feat. Most people might find the sand up the nose and wet clothes to be uncomfortable, but for Rudy it was just another part of life, and they tried to enjoy all of them. Even in the unpleasantries there is something to be experienced.

That experience was life itself. It was something to be cherished. Every shipwreck, every storm, every literal rock in the side, it was life. Even death was just another part of it, albeit the end.

He stepped off the rocks and onto the docks. Ships swayed in the violent rain, hitting loudly off them. He walked down the wooden boards and into the coastal town, simply referred to as "The Docks" as a whole.

They weren't too sure what time it was, as the clouds were just that thick, but they reckoned it had to've been midday despite looking more like the later evening.

The town was as rough and tumble as they come, more so than Rudy had ever seen, and they'd sailed all over the world. What I mean by that is, it looked like it was straight out of some nautical, maritime fairytale. A cluttered, disheveled, seaside town, but it was medieval, too. Old timey, 15th century, and— did that lighthouse keeper mention pirates earlier?

Sure, they're still around. They've ran into a few themself, unpleasantly. But to so casually mention them like that? It seemed strange. Then again, he was also talking about mermaids sinking ships, so maybe the lonesome old keeper was just crazy and full of shit. Still, with curiosity at its peak, they walked down the cozy wet cobblestone streets.

Though the rain was loud and rough, they could hear the lively chatter inside the old buildings. The sound of clinking glasses, laughter, dancing, and old-timey sea shanty music boomed inside the large tavern building. The windows were open holes in the wall, covered by planks that could swing open.

Rudy pulled opened the tavern window, and an olive skinned woman happened to be standing right against it.

"Oh, hi, sorry about that." Rudy said.

"It ain't be a bother." Said the woman, a piratey accent to her voice. She took a sip of the beverage in her hand, "Mm. Besides, the air be nice, it's stuffy in this ol' place. Name's Harriet."

"Rudy."

"Charmed." She said, doing a raise of her glass before taking another sip, "What brings ya peerin' into taverns?"

"Just walking around, getting acquainted."

She chuckled, "Durin' a storm? You're quite the adventurous one, ey?"

"I was born out at sea, I wouldn't be me if I wasn't." He said, hoisting himself to sit on the windowsill, getting out of the rain. "There ain't a better time to get out into the open air than during a thunderstorm."

"Ain't ya frightened by it?"

"It's about risk versus reward. Is the risk of dying out at sea greater than simply being out at sea? Is the threat of getting struck by lightning worse than the experience of being out in a thunderstorm? Does the thought of getting sick outweigh the positives of being one with nature? The answer is no, to me at least. Like, I'd much rather die in a shipwreck than of a heart attack in some dumb suburban house, you know?"

"Can't say I do, but I respect your enthusiasm." Harriet said, "Most folks be like that around here. Never really got it m'self. Wish I did."

"Well, respect's more than what most people give. I just really love life, and that includes all the bad things that come with it. I've gotta admit, I love me a good shipwreck."

"Oh, are you the new boat boy who crashed out on the bay?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I'm surprised people know about me already."

"In a town like this, word tends to spread fast. Ain't much goin' on around here. How'd the grumpy ol' keeper treat you?"

"Well, he was talkin' about merfolk and stuff."

"Ah, that old bastard is always so cryptic. He is one of the merfolk. Don't know why he does it, but I suppose it's just to scare any of the humans he gets."

Rudy furrowed their brow in confusion.

"Oh, yeah, you're new, sorry. He's a human-trapper who works with the royals. Sometimes they end up crossing over, so it's his job to turn them in."

Rudy was incredulous, "What are you talking about?"

"Hm? What d'ya mean?" She asked, brushing her long, dark, curly hair behind her ears, letting Whumpee see they were long and pointed. Whumpee nearly choked on air as their eyes widened and heart rate accelerated. Was... was this real?

"Hey, you alright?"

"Eh, I was... just in a crash the other day, ya know? Still a bit lightheaded and all that. I— I should get going. Nice talking!" He said, jumping down from the window, shutting it, and running off down the streets back to the shores.

He practically had to crawl through the sea across the stones to the Lighthouse, the waves that strong and harsh. He kicked open the door, dripping wet.

"Back so soon?" Lane asked, but Rudy only had one thing on their mind.

"You sunk my ship!" He slammed the door behind him, "Where am I? How did I get here? Who are you?!"

Lane smiled, still with his cup of tea that he sat down on the table. "Welcome to The Docks."

------ 🌊 ------

Thanks for reading! This first part is pretty much a re write of the original two bits I did a while ago. I find the part where he's found as trans a bit cringe but it is what it is.

Also, as I said in the beginning later on the story will contain graphic non-con, so please be aware of that if you wish to continue.

Anyways, hope you have a nice rest of your day!

[oros-ash3s]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ── | “Training” | ── *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Characters // Wren (they/them), Atlas (he/him), Cato (she/her)

Wren didn’t mean to get distracted. 

That’s what they always seem to be saying. They meant to focus on their homework, they meant to do their chores, they meant to get their mom to sign their permission form, they meant to remember to study — it just slipped their mind. Somehow, by some sort of unfortunate miracle, it always did. 

Today, of course, is much different than a basic task like cleaning their room or remember to take the trash out. It might just be the most important day in their life. Because today…. they are on a mission. A critically vital mission. 

A mission to save the world. 

But for some reason, they can’t help but become sucked up with the rest of the crowd, their curiosity getting the better of them. They know they should be using this time to focus, to sneak off while everyone is preoccupied, but at the sight of the bustling crowd blocking their way, they find themself unable to push past it, but instead wander over to see what all the fuss is about. 

The crowd is all gathered in front of two thick-paneled glass walls, eager trainees pushing and shoving to get a better look at what is going on inside, shuffling and whispering with each other in excitement. Wren squishes through, their small stature coming in handy, as they finally find themself standing at the front, body pressed tight to the window. 

They peer through the glass, face tipped so close their nose almost brushes against the window, as they squint and attempt to get a better view of whatever was the cause of all the muttering. In the middle of the room, barreling through opponents like some sort of unkillable machine, is…

A boy. 

· · ───────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ───────── · ·

Atlas swings through the air, sweat slicking to the nape of his neck. He can feel the piercing gaze of each of the training officers locking onto his back, practically burning into him as he spins his staff, jabbing it into the gut of one of his opponents’ while delivering a harsh blow to the jugular to the other. They both go flying, one crashing into the wall with a yelp while the second bulldozes through two unsuspecting trainees, sending them all tumbling to the ground like bowling pins. Although he doesn’t dare lower his guard to check, he can already see the nods of approval he is undoubtedly getting from behind the observation glass, trainees and trainers alike watching in awe at his indupitable form, his unbeatable strength, his quick wit. His perfect score. 

Each training session prior has gone like this: Atlas’ unmatchable skills, next to his less-than-satisfactory classmates, each who are desperate to finally rise above lucky number 792 — the golden boy. And each training session, he easily overpowers them, knocking each opponent that dares to cross his path to the ground, his movements so swift and light that it appears to be effortless, the boy hardly breaking a sweat. The only one who is still left standing by the end of the hour, his figure radiating power above the bruised bodies all fallen at his feet. 

Today is no different. Atlas takes on opponent after opponent, not allowing himself a second of rest, as the crowd continues to gape at him in complete astonishment. It is only when the sharp whistle from the lead director cuts through the thick atmosphere does he finally allow himself to lower his guard. Relaxing his posture, staff clattering from his grip, the trainee he had in a tight headlock plummeting to the ground with it. It is only then, as he turns his attention away, that he is able to see the amount of people gathered outside, watching. 

A large horde of people stand in front of the observation glass, eyes all trained onto him. More faces than he can count are pressed close to the glass, trainees all excitedly trying to push their way to the front to see what all the fuss is about. Quite the turnout, he thinks dimly to himself as he steps past the rows of crumpled bodies and outstretched limbs, making his way outside. 

This isn’t unusual, of course. It seems that at all times there is someone or somebody watching him, inspecting. As much as he doesn’t like it, he has to get used to it, being at such a high rank now. It came with the territory. But a crowd this size, well, it is definitely not what he was expecting to see. He slides the door open, eying the rows and rows of eager, nervous faces anxiously before tipping his head down, averting his gaze. It wouldn’t have bothered him so much, if not for all the whispering. It is hard to all make out, in a crowd of this size, more a dull buzz of reverence, digging under his skin, turning his stomach to a mess of jitters. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, pushing down the nervous tension and muttering a quiet apology as he pushes his way through the crowd. 

He only makes it two feet before he is very rudely interrupted by someone crashing into him. They stumble back, letting out a loud huff of annoyance — like they hadn’t been the one to run into him — and glare up at him, eyebrows knit together. Their expression quickly morphs into one of panic, fear flickering between their eyes, as they realize exactly who they are looking at. It’s a look he knows well by now. 

He clears his throat, albeit a bit awkwardly. “Uh, excuse me.” 

The trainee scrambles away from him, patting off their uniform and staring down at their feet sheepishly. They fumble with their hands, twisting and intertwining their fingers together, their entire body tensed up at once. “Sorry. Wasn’t paying attention.” They grunt, not sounding very sorry. They’re already disappearing back into the crowd before Atlas can even register their rushed apology, cutting off any other conversation. 

Atlas watches them go, unmoving for a moment, a small frown tugging at the corner of his lips. Strange. Although he is used to the weird looks or the whispering or even the intimidation at just talking to him, something about this particular interaction stands out to him from the rest. Something about how the trainee behaved was just… completely unlike any other soldiers he had the privilege of speaking to. Most of those at Eden, not unlike himself, were level-headed, calm, and respectful. While this trainee in particular was none of these things: Running into him, not paying attention to where they were going, even looking like they were about to fight him. It wasn’t like anything he had seen from another person inside the warehouse before. How very strange. 

If he was to actually think about it, Atlas couldn’t remember ever seeing them around before. All their features were plain, with pin-straight jet black hair cropped short, dark brown eyes, and pale skin. Nothing to make them stand out in a crowd. Still, Atlas was sure he would have remembered seeing them around at least once. He’d been here for ten years, he would have remembered someone like them, so rude and scatterbrained. Unless they were new. It would explain away the attitude, and why he didn’t recognize them. But such a low rank, how could they have found their way to this level? Someone like them certainly wouldn’t be allowed to oversee training…

He quickly pushes those thoughts aside, briskly continuing through the crowd and ignoring the odd feeling that still pokes at him from their interaction, as short as it was. It wasn’t any of his business. Maybe they’re a special case, like him. Granted access to the higher levels due to their powers. Maybe he would find them in training soon. A proper opponent, now that would be nice. 

“Atlas.” All thoughts of the trainee are quickly forgotten at the sound of his name being called. He glances up, finding himself face-to-face with Cato, her crisp black badge engraved with silver lettering shining up at him, marking her as the head of the Task Force. She makes her way towards him, the crowd dispersing at her wake, creating a clear walkway for her as they press themselves up against the walls. It is only when she stands directly in front of him that she allows herself to properly greet him, giving him a curt nod. “Training went well, I assume?”

The attention from everyone else is only amplified tenfold with Cato at his side, the wide clearing she has made leaving him out in the open, exposed. All their eyes burn into him as he gives her a small nod and a smile, fingers twitching at his side, tapping against his thigh. He knows he should be used to it by now, but still with every time he is singled out like this, the center of attention, he can’t help but flush and stare down at his feet, silent. He loves his job, loves Eden, but this is always going to be one of those things he wishes to not be a part of it. 

Cato smiles, the look of approval lingering in her eyes distracting Atlas from all the attention on him, for only a moment. It is the smiles from her that makes it all worth it. He can take the stares, the whispers, the rumours, as long as he has Cato at the end of the day, eyes shining in pride. 

Cato glances around at the gaggle of people gathered in a wide circle around the two of them, and her expression quickly shifts to one of annoyance. Her sharp gaze pierces through each of the whispering, eavesdropping trainees as she raises a brow, as if to say move alone, before nodding to Atlas, motioning for him to follow. “Let’s walk.” She says, not waiting for a response as she moves forwards again. 

Atlas quickly scrambles to follow, falling in step beside her, taking extra care to match her sharp pace exactly. “You are on track then?” She asks, gaze trained straight ahead. “To advance.” 

“Yes,” he nods, rubbing his thumb and index finger together in a soothing motion as he speaks. “I should be ready for when the rest of the leaders come to observe at the end of the month.” 

Even now, as they walk further away from the training room, eyes still linger on them. Some murmur behind their hands, shooting Atlas envious looks before being silenced by Cato’s harsh gaze on them, while others, he can feel watching him, following his every movement, the glare in their eyes saying more than any whisper ever could. 

“Good,” Cato says, her voice calm and steady. “I’m sure they will be impressed.”

She falls quiet, letting the words sink in. Impressed. Cato thinks he is something to be impressed by. The thought brings a new type of jitters to his stomach — a good kind, this time. Atlas had been training for so long, restlessly improving his skills, rising above the odds, constantly fighting to be recognized for his talents; the fact that the day where he’d finally be something more than a lowly trainee from the warehouse is actually arriving… Well, it all felt surreal. Evaluation Day is only weeks away. Mere weeks, and he’ll finally have everything he had ever wanted. All of Cato’s lessons, the sleepless nights before tests, the drills and workouts and fights, they were all paying off. Just like they told him they would.

“This will be good for you Atlas.” Cato’s gaze finally lands on him, sweeping him up and down, observing. Atlas goes stiff as a board, his posture straight. He waits for her to pick out an imperfection that he would need to hone in on before Evaluation Day, waits for the criticisms of his form or posture, or the little remarks about his unruly appearance. But for once, no such thing comes. No, for once, Cato is staring at him in nothing but pure, complete pride. “You’ve earned this.” 

Atlas’ lips part slightly, the praise — something Cato doesn’t hand out lightly — coming to him as a shock. He instantly brightens, chest puffing up in pleasure. “Right, of course.” He says quickly, the smallest smile quirking the corners of his lips. He had earned this. 

A whisper catches his ear, pricking the back of his neck: Look who it is. Cato’s little pet. 

The snickers take him off guard. Usually, he is good at disregarding the little snide remarks said behind cupped hands. They are insignificant, in the grand scheme of things. Just words. Harmless, when compared to the blow of a weapon, or the pierce of a dagger; they are nothing. But for some reason, being so out in the open, Cato staring at him so gently, the words almost… hurt. Of course, it isn’t anything he hasn’t heard before. He knows why life at the warehouse is always so lonely, why he gets the glares and looks of intimidation. He knows what they all think, what they say about him. 

792 only made it this far because he’s her favourite, he doesn’t know what true hardship is like. Not when he’s pampered by the commander herself. She’ll let him get anything he wants. He’s only ever been special because she dotes over him so much. He’d be nowhere without her. 

It was what made working under the Leader so… intriguing. Under her, there would be no judgement, under her they would see him for who he truly is, not just as an extension of Cato. Under her, he’d be surrounded by like-minded people, driven for power, to do true good in the world. They’d be equals. 

Unless…

The whispers worm their way under his skin like needle pricks, causing his expression of excitement to fade, eyebrows drawing together.

Despite himself, despite the praise Cato has given to him so softly — praise he could usually never expect from her — he finds himself doubting his place, wondering if maybe they are right. After all, the Elites, the Evaluation – they are hand-picked by Cato herself. If she didn’t like him so much, if she hadn’t kept such a close eye on him, given him personal lessons, allowed him to move up when others couldn’t… would he have even made it this far? Was he truly deserving of this? 

“They are jealous. You deserve this.” Cato’s voice cuts through again, practically reading Atlas’ thoughts.

He glances back up towards her, but this time her gaze is focused forwards again, not making eye contact with him. He wishes that she still was. He’d do anything to get that soft smile, the way her eyes crinkle up when she is pleased with him. He simply gives her a nod, lapsing back into silence beside her. She has to be right. Cato wouldn’t lie to him, and especially wouldn’t give him a freeride to the Elites. Only the best of the best made it through. And if she thought that even the other leaders would be impressed by his skills… Well then, he had to be the best of the best, didn’t he? 

The thought spurs something inside of him, and he turns back to face her, a flicker of doubt passing across his face. “Um,” he says, lowering his voice, almost hesitating. “Ira will be coming with me, won’t she?” 

At Atlas’ words, Cato casts her gaze down on him again, but only briefly. Her eyes are laced with something indescribable as she stares down at him, and then the look is gone, her face turned away. “To your evaluation with the other leaders?” She pauses. “Or moving forward to the Elites?”

Atlas stares down at his feet. “To the Elites.” He says, his words suddenly stuck in his throat, as he thinks desperately on how exactly to word his next question. It is a stupid question to bother Cato with, especially when she takes time out of her already-packed schedule to come visit him after training — to make sure he is alright. She doesn’t have time for questions about Ira Mawar. Still, he can’t stop himself from continuing. “You’re considering her too, right? They’ve fought so hard to finally be one of the selected — they’ve even been here almost as long as I have. I don’t know if…” He cuts himself short, the words lingering in the air as he looks towards Cato for her approval. 

Cato’s expression is now far from the soft, gentle look of pride. She shoots him a firm stare, stopping him in his tracks. He is sure that the next word from her lips will be a harsh “no” — he already knew the question was wrong to ask as soon as the words left his mouth. But surprisingly enough, Cato doesn’t shoot him down so fast. She hesitates for a moment, before saying in a quieter tone than before, “We are… considering them. Though, I suggest you don’t speak to her about this.” She adds, the ‘if you know what’s good for yourself’ goes unspoken. 

Atlas relaxes ever so slightly, relief flooding through him. “Understood.” 

The idea of having to leave his best friend behind had been the one problem that had been troubling him as Evaluation Day drew closer. Of course, he’s been waiting for the day to come since he was only a child; it was his one dream, the goal he’d been working towards for years, the thing he wanted the most. But the thought of going ahead and leaving Ira alone at the warehouse is unthinkable. She is always at his side, his rock through it all. They do everything together; an unbeatable duo. When he imagines being an Elite, she is right there at his side. 

To hear that Ira might be one of the selected instantly eases his worries. He knows it was foolish to wish to have Ira as his partner, always, but he is glad that there might be a possibility that the two of them won’t have to part ways. Of course, he is never going to tell Ira this. He is fortunate enough that Cato is willing to allow him such classified information. No one knew who the top picks for the Elites were, not even the other commanding officers. Only Cato and the leaders had access to those files. To think Cato trusted him enough to tell him…. He wasn’t going to dare disobey her, not when she thought he was special enough to know. He could never break her trust like that. 

Cato nods at Atlas’ affirmative. “You have a good heart… thinking of them like that.” She says slowly, falling quiet for another long moment. “I understand your closeness with Ira. However, you would do well to maintain your own success as your number one priority.” 

“Right.” 

“Keep training. Don’t let yourself get too relaxed now that you’re finally getting the recognition you deserve.” She reaches a hand up and gives Atlas a brief pat on the shoulder, causing his ears to go pink. “I’ll see you at your next training session.” 

And with that, she disappears down the hall again. His time with Cato is finally up.

masterlist || next

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

Credits go to @ohagiwrites as she helped co-write this. Wren is also co-owned with @ohagiwrites ੈ✩‧₊˚

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

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[eight-littlenightmares]

hi. so uquiz doesn’t have a feature to make posts, so i’m posting this here, because i’ve shared the link to my quizzes here anyways and that’s probably where most of the people taking it are coming from.

so someone left a mean comment on my quiz, ‘would you survive the Maw in my book i’m writing??’ screenshot right here

fuck you to this person.

authors and other artists remember EVERY SINGLE COMMENT THEY GET. every single one. and that’s all well and good for the good comments, but we also internalize mean ones as well.

my stories are really, really special to me. just like (i would assume) all or at least the vast majority of authors. this stuff HURTS. i don’t even care if i’m being over sensitive. i’ll be completely honest, this made me actually cry. not in the ironic internet ‘oh i cried lmao 😭’ but actual ugly crying.

if you leave nasty comments under people’s art or stuff like this?? YOU ARE A PIECE OF SHIT AND I HATE YOU. ESPECIALLY if you do it anonymously. you’re not obligated to look at people’s stuff, if you don’t like it then go and do something else. you are doing nothing but showing everybody what a sad person you are. and if you don’t think it’s a big deal, IT IS. your words have IMPACT, and the person on the other side of the screen is a PERSON.

i’m resisting the urge to say ‘sorry for going on a rant’. anyways i was just really genuinely hurt by this. i struggle with internalizing things people say and my books are REALLY important to me and so this just caught me off guard. it’s late so good night

EDIT:

do you have nothing better to do than anonymously insult teenage authors on the internet??

this quiz is going under a password. i’m kinda self conscious about coming across as overly sensitive about this, but my mental health is already pretty fragile as it is and i don’t appreciate getting my feelings repeatedly hurt over something really important to me.

[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!

[livelaughwhump]

For my fellow whump writers out there, I have a question.

As you may have noticed, I have not put out a chapter of Worthless in a fairly long time. I'm dealing with a serious case of writer's block and I have no idea how to get over it. It's been months and I'm really struggling.

So my question is, have you ever dealt with writers block? If so, any tips to overcome it? I'm desperate.