#whumpee is not a kid whumper just calls them that

[lumpywhump]

Whump idea I had.

Organ theft but Whumpee is awake for it. Bonus if they are afraid of needles or medical procedures

Tw: blood

"one two three all eyes on me! Okay kids," whumper clapped. "For our lab we got Subject 188236. Everyone say "hi Subject 188236!"

"...hi subject 188326..." whumper was the most insufferable professor on campus.

muffled cries called from the steel table. Whumpee squinted at the harsh lights, so they could see the people around them. Students in white lab coats and goggles watched them from every corner of their field of vision.

"Today you get no instructions. You'll tell me what to do, and I'll be your arms. We are harvesting it's heart." Whumper looked around, "Student A, how do we start?

"Like are we assuming everything is set up for us to just start cutting?"

whumper nodded.

"Then you need to make a 6-8 inch incision on the chest wall,"

"Perfect,"

Whumpee whimpered as whumper pressed their scalpel to whumpee's chest.

"Based off this subjects size, Student B, how big of an incision should I make?"

"Uhh, I wanna say somewhere between seven and eight?"

"Okay then, I'll go right in the middle,"

whumpee cried out as the teacher slowly ripped open their chest, blood collecting around the cut. Their breath quickened, but relief poured through them as whumper withdrew their tool.

"Oh no! Looks like our subject is panicking, I can't accurately open their chest like this. What do we do now?"

"Have someone nearby calm them down?" Student A answered.

"Student D, your turn,"

"The best way to calm them down is with assurance and distractions. May I?"

"All yours,"

Whumpee felt someone touch their head. They flinched, their chest throbbing worse with the motion.

"hey, it's okay, you're doing well so far, but it's going to hurt more if you don't calm down,"

All whumpee really heard was hurt more. Their eyes watered, stinging their dry eyes.

Student D retreated away, knowing they made things worse.

"it's okay, we all make mistakes. Student E? Wanna give it a shot?"

A hand covered Whumpee's eyes. They reached to pull the hand away, scared by the sudden darkness, but their hands were still restrained. Another hand began to massage their temples. And man, this was probably the nicest thing someone has done in a while. The newer people tended to be kinder. Whumpee couldn't help but relax, in fact, they almost fell asleep.

"good job," whumper whispered, making sure not to disturb whumpee. "Keep going,"

Whumpee whined as Whumper finished the cut, but they relaxed again when Student E begins trailing their nails along whumpee's buzzed scalp.

"what's next?"

"ethh ate," whumpee mumbled with the gag tied around their head.

"what was that?" Whumper asked. Whumpee moved their jaw, referencing the gag.

"Now," whumper returned to their normal speaking volume. "You really shouldn't ever do this, because sometimes subjects are prone to biting or saying things that they really shouldn't, but 188236 tends to be good. When you all work in this industry, you'll learn when it is and isn't okay to do this."

Whumpee felt hands grab the gag and pull it down.

"what did you say?"

"Next you open the breast plate, then the ribs, disconnect the heart from the arteries, blah blah blah. Please, I'm tired, just please get this over with." Their tears wetted Student E's hand. the hands released whumpee's head.

"Whumper... I don't think I can do this,"

Whumper sighed. "And this is my fault. This is another reason we don't normally remove the gag...... why don't we stop for today? We can do this again next class." Whumper smiled at their students.

Once whumper was left alone with whumpee, they turned to them. "Looks like you get off easy today huh?"

whumpee didn't respond.

"Let's wrap your chest so you don't get blood everywhere,"

[whumpworld]

Every Whumpee’s Needs

I got super into this one for some reason, and it’s actually inspired a new series. Just what I need, another WIP to make a bunch of picrews for and then put off writing. Anyway, this is a long one, sorry! 

Prompt: No. 5 Every Whumpee’s Needs [Blood Loss | Running Out of Air | Hyperthermia]

CW: Hyperthermia (overheating/heat stroke), dehydration, restraints, mention of bugs (my legs and bacl itches everytime I read the part this reffers to, so I figured I’d mention it as cw), newly captured whumpee.

The sun beat down like the hooves of the rider’s horse in the sand, heavy and quiet, each footfall causing a miniature landslide of crystalline grains that sounded like sugar through a sieve as they crested the top of a dune. Behind the trail of hoof prints were two wobbling, weaving lines—less clean, cutting steps through the sand and more marks of unsteady and defeated feet slipping on it—as though a dead animal was being dragged along. But Whumpee was only half dead, and being half dragged. Despite their best efforts to keep up with Whumper’s pace, they were only able to trip and stumble behind.

“Stop…”

They had long given up trying to minimize the contact of the soles of their feet and the burning hot sand, once light, hopping steps now lumbering and leaden as they shifted their focus to staying upright. Their feet were already blistered, there was nothing they could do about that, but they could at least maybe prevent their entire frontside from blaining if they could keep from falling forward and giving in to the exhaustion. 

Whumpee remembered something they had been told long ago about how feet control the body's temperature—if the feet are cold, so is the body, same if they’re hot. And damn, was Whumpee feeling that now. What they would give to dunk their feet in a pail of cool water. What they would give to drink a pail of cool water. Their mouth would have watered at the thought if it hadn’t completely absorbed all the fluid available already.

“M-mister, stop…”

The skin of their legs was numb from the whipping sand in the wind, and they were almost glad for it, because they didn’t want to think about the sand fleas nipping and burrowing in their bare feet and calves. But the numbness couldn’t override the constant, full body burn that encompassed them. Their dark skin had quickly turned a darker, irritated red that was only getting worse, already starting to peel and flake away so fresh skin could burn all over again. 

It was maddening, the constant itching and smoldering of their flesh, nothing but the thin undergarments Whumper hadn’t made them strip from to, thankfully, cover the most sensitive areas of themselves. But the entire rest of their body was going to develop painfully sore blisters within the next few days if this kept up. Even their eyelids, which hung low to keep as much of the sun out as possible, were burned, and it hurt to simply blink against the breeze.

Their arms ached from being held aloft in front of them, Whumpee trying desperately to keep them from dropping, to keep as much slack in the line as possible to avoid the constant tugging on their wrists. Whumper had used a long, spare lead line to wrap their hands, inside of their wrists pressed together, the rope tight and cutting into their joints, bruising where it wasn’t already bleeding and staining the rope. And still, their shaking muscles gave out every so often, arms drooping and legs lagging as the horse was spurred onward, until the rope tied at the horn of the saddle pulled tight and Whumpee was jerked forward and nearly brought to their knees.

“Ngh…I—can’t keep…I need…”

Whumpee was completely drained, of will, energy, and strength, but the only thing on their mind was water. They could keep going if they were just allowed a mouthful, a sip, even, just enough to unstick their tongue from the bottom of their mouth and clear the sand from their throat. Something to quench the awful pangs of heat cramps in their legs and stomach, that had them wincing and scrabbling to continue forward.

At some point, they had started a game in their mind, one their mother taught them when they were little to help get work done when they felt they couldn’t go on. Find something to focus on, and count the steps that bring you closer to it. Their fixation was the liter sized canteen strapped to the outside of the saddle bag. 

Whumpee could practically hear the water inside swishing with each sway of the horse’s flank. It was half full, and Whumper must have more, but this was the one the man was slowly nursing, reaching back once in a while to blindly unstrap it, uncap it, and take a swig. They hadn’t realized they had become completely focused on it until they noticed they were counting the steps they had left to grab it off the saddle. 10, 9, 8, 7… . Each time they stumbled, fell behind, or the horse sped up, they reset the count, started again. 8, 7, 6, 5—-—-13, 12, 11… .

As Whumper lifted the canteen to his mouth this time, Whumpee’s eyes followed it, squinting up into the sun, nearly losing their footing as they watched rivlets of water spill down the man’s chin and soak into the wrap he pulled back over his face when finished, seething at the utter waste.

It couldn't have been more than 12 hours since they were taken late last night, and the sun was just past overhead now. If Whumper planned on letting them rest any time soon, he didn't show it. The last thing Whumpee wanted was to beg Whumper for anything, but they needed water, and they needed it soon. Their hair, which had been soaked with sweat shortly into the journey, even though it began at night, was starting to dry, and it let them know they were near heat stroke. Their body was no longer sweating, entirely devoid of fluid. 

By the time the sun dropped another peg in the sky, their vision began blurring significantly. Their skin broiled under the sky, their legs and arms shook violently and locked up in episodes that lasted longer and longer each time, until they eventually crashed downward to their knees. The horse continued, unbothered or unaware of the person it tortured in its path forward, and their arms were jerked above them, dragging them a short distance on their knees while they struggled to get their feet under them, before they collapsed onto their front. They couldn’t find the strength to rise. Groaning as they were pulled through the sand, they turned their head up to avoid swallowing a mouthful. 

They didn’t want to beg for water. This man had come into their town, their home, threatened their family. Strung them up like an animal, like cargo, to be brought to some destination unknown to Whumpee. Whumper had beaten them, tied them up and stripped them, as their family watched on in horror, for noncompliance already; they didn't want to know what he’d do when they begged. Or, maybe that was what the man wanted. But so far, each of their complaints went unanswered. 

Still, what terrified them more than this mysterious and cruel man was the unforgiving desert, the unrelenting sun. They were so overheated and dehydrated that they felt like their body had been overcooked, and the sand was now grating the tissue from their bones as they were dragged along, like a tender meat for stew. If they didn’t drink soon, didn't cool down, cover their skin, the desert would swallow them whole.

 “P-please….”

They could hardly recognize their own voice, as brittle and cracked as it was. They tried again, louder, when Whumper still didn’t acknowledge them. “Please, s-stop.”

They wrapped their blistering hands around the rope, pulled as hard as they could to try and get themselves up, or to get the attention of the man. They managed to pull their elbows under them and press up to their feet, despite the stiffness of their muscles, and so they gripped the lead line and jerked it as hard as they could. “Stop! I…I’ll die like this!” 

Their tugging barely budged the saddle, but the horse, having gotten used to pulling their dead weight, jumped at the movement, sending waves of sand down the dune, and Whumpee’s ground shifted out from under them, dropping them back to the searing earth. 

They groaned, struggled again to stand as they were dragged onward by their wrists. Blood trailed down their forearms from the saturated rope, until a gust of wind whisked sand over them, the grains coating the exposed wounds and offering a sort of makeshift clotting agent. Hissing, Whumpee forced themselves to stand again. If they could just find enough strength to lunge forward, grab the canteen…. But if they spooked the horse they might be kicked, and if not by the horse then by Whumper, and they didn’t think they could survive a blow to the ribs from either.

“Please, I won’t be able to work if…if you let me be l-like this. I need—need water. Please.” They weakly pulled the line. “Please.”

For the first time since Whumper had mounted hours ago, he turned to look back at Whumpee. The beige scarf wrapping his head and neck was left open just a slit so he could see, and the shadows cast by the overhead sun made it look as though there was nothing but a void beneath the fabric, no glint of eyes, no facial expression to be read. But the man must have been assessing Whumpee’s state, must have decided that what they were saying was true: they really couldn’t do this for much longer. Whumper at last pulled at the reins, and the horse snorted, seemingly also content for a break. Whumpee crumpled as soon as they stopped, falling to their hands and knees with a relieved gasp.

Whumper swung a leg over the horse and smoothly dismounted, looping the reins around the horn just above the knotted lead line, and busied himself moving around the horse to dig through the side pack. A tough leather pail was produced and Whumpee almost whined at the sound of water being poured into it. They looked up, eyes tired and hopeful, but Whumper only walked back to the front of the horse to hold out the water. 

Whumpee felt stupid for not realizing until now that the horse hadn’t been let to drink yet either. They waited patiently as the horse drank, then as it ate a few blocks of something the man pulled from his pocket. When Whumper was satisfied with the horse’s replenishment, he finally walked over to Whumpee. His breathable but tough boots left pleasing tread marks in the sand, and Whumpee found themselves wanting to reach out to wipe them away. They wanted to grab hold of the expensive fabric of his pants, roll the intricately woven threads between their fingers, just to feel anything other than burning on their skin. 

“You won’t be for working, kid.” Whumper’s voice was smooth, light; Whumpee could practically hear the moisture coating the man’s tongue in the smoothness of his voice. 

“W-what?” Whumpee had forgotten what they’d said earlier. They weren't sure why they were taken, Whumper had never provided that information, but they could only assume it was to be put to work. They had really only said it to make the man stop. But if they weren't taken for work…no, Whumpee couldn’t worry about that now. 

“Well, I-I’ll be no use in any…way…like t-this,” they offered, almost sheepishly. Their head was throbbing too hard to truly care about how pathetic they may sound. 

Whumper hummed in agreement. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. You won’t be of use dead, and you’ll be so much less appealing with third degree sunburn.” He reached out a worn, hide-gloved hand, which Whumpee dazedly moved away from before their hair was brushed from their forehead. The shadow under Whumper’s scarf lightened in his proximity, revealing brown, piercing eyes boring into Whumpee’s strained ones. 

“Y-yes…,” Whumpee mumbled, before adding as a confused and horrified afterthought, “...a-appealing….”

Whumper narrowed his eyes further before pulling what Whumpee thought had been a saddle blanket off the back of the horse, now realizing it was a thin cloak with a large hood and long sleeves. It was cypress green, probably covered in itchy horse hair, but, oh, the sweet refuge it would offer from the sun. Whumper held it out tauntingly, just out of reach.

“Please,” Whumpee whispered, curling their fingers in their lap, resisting the urge to snatch the cloak from him.

“You’ve learned your lesson, then?” It was a question, one Whumpee didn’t know if they were supposed to answer, didn’t even really know what it was referring to, but they looked down and nodded their head quickly in reply. 

The cape was dropped to the sand, and Whumpee scrambled to scoop it up and dress themselves, only to realize they couldn’t actually wear it, couldn’t get their arms in the sleeves since they were tied together, and so they draped it over their shoulders and pulled the hood down low over their face. The fabric was warm, wooly, and irritating on the sunburn, but they sighed as they felt the sun break contact with their skin. When they looked back up, Whumper was turning to tuck the leather pail back into the saddle bag. 

No, wait. They needed water. Without thinking Whumpee launched themselves forward, cloak slipping off their shoulders, and grabbed hold of Whumper’s pant leg.

“No! No, no, water—I-I need water, too! You have to—omph!” They cut themselves off as Whumper’s boot slammed into their shoulder. Their grip broke from the man’s pants as they were shoved back, only for the boot to be slammed down on the lead line, jerking their arms forward and down so they were prostrated before Whumper. 

“I don’t ‘have to’ do anything,” Whumper growled, and his voice sounded so much less smooth now, as he ground his boot into the rope just a few inches from Whumpee’s hands. Whumpee wondered if he was imagining their fingers beneath the sole, and they sobbed, the urge to cry bubbling up into their chest despite not a single tear swelling in their eyes. It was an odd sensation, to cry tearlessly. 

Whumpee kept their face down, shivering even as the sun beat back down on them, and didn’t move, waiting for Whumper to remount and begin the journey again, dragging a lifeless Whumpee in tow, leaving the cloak to blow away and become buried in the dunes. They flinched at the sound of metal clinking, squeezing their eyes closed, before a hand in their hair yanked their head up, boot keeping their hands pressed to the ground.

“Don’t you dare spill a drop,” commanded Whumper, and Whumpee cracked their eyes when warm metal pressed to their peeling, parted lips. They were drinking eagerly before they realized what was happening, Whumper down on one knee, tipping the canteen up into their mouth. It was the best water they’d ever tasted, even heated and stale, and it was gone too soon, Whumper pulling it away after only a few gulps, Whumpee whining and trying to grab it back, forgetting their hands were being held down. 

As they gasped in air, mouth finally full of moisture, they almost pleaded for more, even considered tackling the man for it, but they took a steadying breath, gritted their teeth, and murmured a bedgrudging, “Thank y-you.” 

The rider only hummed lowly in response, sounding satisfied. He gripped their arm and pulled them to their feet as he stood, before reaching down to pick up the cloak, sighing heavily when as soon as his hand left Whumpee’s arm they wobbled and almost fell back down. Whumper draped the cloak over their shoulders, yanked the hood down, and threw them up onto the front of the horse like a sack of vegetables.

They almost slipped off, but then Whumper was mounting right behind them, arms on either side of them, wrapping the excess lead line to tie their hands around their abdomen, so they couldn’t reach out or try to take the reins. The sigh they let out was bodily, legs so glad to not be holding their own weight.

“Thank you,” they breathed, this time genuine and relieved, slumping back against the man. They couldn't care that he was their captor, they were exhausted. He huffed, the sound almost a laugh, clicked his tongue, and the horse began walking again.

“You won’t be thanking me once we arrive.” One of Whumper’s hands gripped Whumpee’s waist tight. “I’d bet my horse you’ll wish I let you die by this sun, kid.” 

[whumpninja]

*crashing in through the whump community’s skylight*

oh hey, what’s up? I’m Jack, I’ve been lurking in the shadows of the community for way too long and I’m now revealing my presence!

Name: it’s Jack, didn’t you just see it up there? I will also accept Jacques, Jack-Jack, Jackrabbit, Jackalope, Jack Sparrow, Jack Daniels or J-Money

Age: old enough to drink, not old enough to say “back in the good old days…” while I stare wistfully out the window (I could do that, but I’d just be reminiscing about when everyone wore their jeans around their knees)

Pronouns: he/him, they/them, hey/you, call me whatever you want as long as you don’t call me late for- nope, I’m not finishing that joke

About Me: why are you asking? who do you work for? WHO SENT YOU?! Just kidding. Here are some things I like doing- writing, thinking about whump, thinking about writing whump. Here are some things I like doing but am bad at- cooking things, climbing things without falling off of them, running without feeling like I’m going to die. Here are some things I don’t like doing- studying, going to the gym, watching romantic comedies, eating canned vegetables, getting my socks wet.

About Whump: love it. Love, love, love it. Whump is great. I like almost all flavors (but hold the nuts and butts and sexy bits.) My particular favorites- defiant whumpee, whump with magic/fantasy elements in it, whumpers who just suck, uh…whumpees in gladiator fights?? But…cage matches. Not bare-chested men in loincloths stabbing each other.

Here are some blogs about whump I really like: @smellofsnoww @weirdstrangeandawful @whumperofworlds @whumperfultime @redwingedwhump @painsandconfusion @newbornwhumperfly @pigeonwhumps @caspia-writes @spookyboywhump @oddsconvert and literally so many more, I have been lurking here for *a while* also I will probably make a blubbery post about why I like these blogs the next time I have a drink

About WIPs: I have a grand total of one. It currently exists as a complicated red-string-board of a Google Doc with way too many characters and at least three plotlines. It’ll probably still have too many characters and plotlines when I post it. It’s mainly about vampires and humans whumping each other into absolute oblivion, so if that’s your speed, stay tuned, sports fans.

Anyway, it’s me, finally coming out of the shadows to join the whump community in their mission to make fictional characters suffer! I have the power of God and whump on my side- AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH-

A BIG LIST OF STUFF JACK WROTE!

[thatgenderfluidmonstrosity]

I just had an idea and I’m gonna try to explain this the best I can-

A Whumper who allows Whumpee phone privileges? Treats them like a kid on the internet, with parental controls and such

Whumpee remembers Caretakers phone number, and starts to message them in secret, deleting the app/messages afterwards to cover it up? (Idk how phones work /j 💀)

Anyway, they are close to being saved, or Caretaker is at least finding out where they are, when Whumper finds out about their secret

They decide to have fun with it

For every text that Whumpee receives from Caretaker is another punishment, and they have to keep responding and telling them that everything is okay

They eventually make them call Caretaker and tell them one of a couple things:

- They are safe/were saved, but can’t talk anymore, and that Caretaker doesn’t need to worry about them anymore (then never answer the phone again)

- They lied about the entire thing, maybe they were never kidnapped, maybe it was just all a really cruel prank. (Bonus points on if it was Whumpee x Caretaker and Whumpee tells them they don’t love them anymore, and instead love Whumper)

- They are not safe, and they don’t know what will happen to them, they can’t answer them anymore, Whumper will hurt them (Again, bonus points if Whumper speaks as well)

And my favorite - Caretaker calls and Whumper answers instead, telling Caretaker just how badly they’ve harmed Whumpee because of Caretakers interference.

Idk, I hope I explained it well enough.

[eight-littlenightmares]

whump prompts/ideas

Whumpee’s trauma wasn’t even real, they’ve just been in a coma and dreamed it all. how can they cope after that?? they don’t even have the scars to show what happened to them!!

Whumpee is in a bit of a.. situation.. they seem to have found themself in a small, hollow cavern that is slowly being filled with wet concrete/cement.

Whumpee has been kidnapped and is being held captive at a sort of restaurant or resort or both, where kids (doesn’t have to be kids) are kidnapped with the intention of slaughtering them and feeding them to the guests (this is what happens to one of my OCs :D)

Whumpee found a phone.. they’ve been away from home for such a long time, and so they start calling someone they’re very close to immediately!! does their person answer?? maybe they won’t, because it’s an unknown number, or a sketchy-looking Messenger video call.. and is Whumpee hurt?? or crying?? do they have a location they can give their person?? how much does Whumpee tell them about what they’ve been through so far??

Whumpee is someone who has just gotten a paper cut. Whumper is just some guy who handed them the piece of paper. Caretaker is a little confused but goes along with it.

Carewhumper that Whumpee has been with for as long as they can remember. Whumpee is very conditioned, and loves Carewhumper. even when Carewhumper hurts them. (..which is kind of a lot-) Whumpee doesn’t even realize that there is something wrong with their situation.

Whumpee is gay or trans, and Whumper may be a horrible person who is willing to literally TORTURE poor Whumpee, but goddamnit they draw the line at homophobia/transphobia!!

..Whumpee is their own Whumper. and not even in a dramatic or heartbreaking way, no, Whumpee is just very clumsy and has really bad luck. Caretaker is desperately trying to keep an eye on them, but Whumpee insists they don’t need any help.. right before they fall down an open manhole..

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

cw age gap, implied kidnapping, implied torture, intimate whumper, power dynamic 

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” 

They glanced at the doorway, a cigarette between their full, pink lips. They raised an eyebrow and smirked at Whumper, blowing out a cloud of smoke before replying, “What makes you think I have a bedtime?” 

Whumper smiled and leaned against the wall next to them. Leaving enough distance between them to be casual. “I don’t mind,” they said, not answering the question. “I mean, we do all ages shows for a reason. I think it’s great for kids to see live music.” 

Big, innocent eyes narrowed into a glare. “I’m eighteen, actually. But thanks for your concern.” 

Oh, this one was going to be fun. “Sorry, you just look young is all. Didn't mean to insult you—maybe we could start over? I’m Whumper.” 

“I know, I came to see your band.” Another drag on their cigarette. “I’m Whumpee.” 

Whumpee. The name suited them perfectly. Whumper could imagine saying it tauntingly as they did horrible things to Whumpee. Or whispering it as they comforted them afterwards. Whumper didn’t expect to be so lucky tonight. “Well, Whumpee,” they said, testing it out. “I haven’t seen you at any shows before, but you seem cool. There’s an after party at my place if you wanna come.” 

The kid looked hesitant. “I don’t know, I have class in the morning.” It wasn’t a no. 

They watched Whumpee stub out the cigarette on the wall behind them and flick it over the porch railing into the grass. They imagined lighting one of their own just to put it out on Whumpee’s skin. They would probably scream so beautifully as it burned into their wrist or their neck. Delicate, unmarked skin. Oh, Whumper was going to have so much fun breaking them. “Your call,” they said with a shrug before closing the space between them. “But I'd really like it if you were there.” 

Whumpee looked up at them, visibly nervous but making no move to back away. “Yeah?” they breathed, seeming to catch the unspoken implication in Whumper’s statement. 

The other people milling around outside paid them no attention as Whumper placed one of their hands on the kid’s cheek, cold from the winter air. Their nose was red, too—how cute. “Yeah—come party with the rockstars. I promise you’ll have a good time, honey.” 

What Whumper didn’t mention was that once Whumpee made it to their house, they wouldn’t be leaving. Not for a very long time, at least. 

“Okay. I'll come,” Whumpee agreed without much convincing. God, they were easy.  

Whumper smiled, tucking Whumpee’s hair behind their ear. Fingers ghosted down their neck, picturing a collar around it. Imagining how that sweet, young face would look covered in tears. “Awesome. Let me pack up my equipment and then we’ll get going.” 

[forwhump]

a/n; I know I say this every time but this is like my third post today so I am sincerely sorry I won’t stop posting lmfao idk what’s happening to me I don’t even LIKE posting it’s so scary but I’m getting addicted to the adrenaline rush I guess but I’m sincerely sorry you’re suffering the consequences

here we go again <3

tw/cw: mentions of noncon, graphic depictions of violence, beating, mutilation, guns, misgendering, transphobia, character death, major character death (but he dies all the time)

human weapon whumpee, revenge, creepy whumper (I think he’s creepy anyway idk)

Wren didn’t want him to know.

He’d done everything he could, as a matter of fact, to keep Silas from knowing, and at first, it had pissed him off. Not that he didn’t want him to know, but that he wouldn’t let him put a stop to it. That Wren would keep suffering in silence, knowing that if Silas had known, he would’ve done something. He would’ve saved him.

They’d argued about it, when Wren was well enough to argue with him again.

“No,” he’d said, like he was talking to a particularly stupid dog.

Silas scowled down at him. He was curled up in Silas’ bed, just like he’d been over the last few days, but there was more life in him, a bit more of himself, and the relief had only strengthened Silas’ resolve. He wasn’t gonna let this happen again.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” he replied, “if you really think I’m just gonna sit here and let them fuckin’ touch you again.”

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do,” Wren told him.

“The fuck it is,” Silas said.

“You’re not going to do anything, actually,” Wren told him, sharp. “You’re not going to —“

“What are you gonna do?” Silas taunted, leaning in closer, raising his eyebrows. “You gonna stop me?” Wren had poked him really hard between the eyes. Silas recoiled quickly. “Ow?”

“You are going to get yourself killed,” Wren snapped.

He groaned loudly. “I am not.”

“Are you absolutely fucking kidding me?” He seethed. “You are. You’re going to do something stupid and you’re going to get yourself killed and you’re going to make me watch it happen.”

“Who cares what happens to me?”

“I do!” Wren snapped.

Silas heaved his shoulders. “Too bad.”

“Silas —“

“I’m not going to sit by and let them hurt you, Wren,” he said. “You can do whatever you want to me. You won’t stop me.”

“If you do something fucking stupid,” Wren spat, “I will never forgive you.”

They argued about it for a long time, in fact.

It was Silas, of course, who relented, because realistically, Silas can’t deny him anything. If Wren asked Silas to kill himself, he’d find a way to make it permanent. He’d pinky promised to keep his hands to himself.

He’d been lying.

It wasn’t intentional, but it wasn’t the truth. Silas just didn’t realize quite how hard it would be to keep that promise.

They’re sitting in the common room. Silas is huge, so he takes up most of the loveseat, but Wren fits perfectly in the spot next to him, warm against his side. It’s where Silas likes him best.

He has his head leaned against Silas’ arm as he draws something in the book he has opened across his knees, but Silas has no idea what it might be. Wren’s been working on it for the better part of an hour and Silas hasn’t looked at it once, hasn’t looked away from Wren’s profile, from the part of his lips, from the length of his eyelashes.

He only looks up at the sound of the door; the beep of a keycard being swiped, a fingerprint being accepted, the massive vault lock being turned. The door to their unit grinds open, and everything goes to hell.

Machine gun held across his chest, it’s a man they call Wound that enters. Especially cruel, he’s always been one of Silas’ least favourite soldiers. That cements as Wren’s back tenses at his side, and Silas knows. He knows. Wren doesn’t even need to tell him.

Wound lifts his chin at Wren, then angles his head towards the door. “The girl,” he said, in the commanding voice all the soldiers put on when they speak to the assets. “Let’s go.”

Silas can feel the way Wren’s breath hitches more than he can hear it, and he’s on his feet before he really thinks about it.

Wren reaches for his arm, but Silas steps away. “Silas —“ he starts to warn, but Silas isn’t listening.

He’s looking at Wound. Wound is an especially cruel man, and Silas knows that firsthand, but he doesn’t know the kind of cruelty that Wren knows. He can’t imagine. Wound is big, and he’s mean, and the thought of his hands on Wren’s skin doesn’t make him see red, but black. It’s a darkness that starts to swallow him the second Wren’s back tenses and that he’s completely lost in by the time he’s on his feet.

He’d promised Wren he wouldn’t, but he didn’t know. The darkness had already spiraled up and out of his control before he even knew it was blooming.

He looks at Wound and he can see Wren, just as he’d seen him that day that Silas had picked him up off the floor. The bites at his throat had scabbed, started to heal, but Silas sees them just as they had been when they were fresh, the puncture of teeth, the bruising, the blood that had pooled in his collarbones. He sees the bruises, in the shapes of hands and fingerprints, so brutal they had welted. He sees Wound’s hands.

Silas had promised to just sit there, but come on. Who could ask that of him? Really? How could he be expected to let this happen? Wren, scared at his side — is Silas just supposed to watch him go?

Like hell.

“Sit down, Park,” Wound commands, almost bored. “I’m not here for you.”

Silas doesn’t even say anything.

Wound is a big guy, a lot bigger than Wren. Silas is a lot bigger than Wound.

He swings, and he puts all his weight into it.

And Silas, quite unfortunately, isn’t human, and he isn’t close. Silas is a weapon. Silas was genetically engineered for violence.

He swings, and he puts all his weight into it. The bone and cartilage of Wound’s face are crushed beneath his fist.

The common room explodes into screaming and chaos. Wren is screaming at him. Hal and June might be, too, but they might just be screaming, panicked and confused. Robin must’ve come running, because the bass of his voice joins the clamor, just as panicked and even more confused.

Silas could give less of a fuck.

Wound drops to the concrete at his feet with a really wet, choking sort of sound. Silas leans down, throws his fist, and cracks clean through Wound’s skull. It shatters against the concrete like ceramic and his liquified brain spills out around him.

It happens quick. It happens too quickly for anybody to stop it, but not so quick that the soldiers standing guard detail don’t hear or see it happen. The thunderous footsteps of the cavalry enclose on the common room, so Silas riffs the machine gun from Wound’s limp hands.

“Silas!” Wren cries, but Silas doesn’t have the time to turn.

He hoists the gun and the first three soldiers to near him are blown apart by the ammunition.

Silas has never been allowed a gun. He’s starting to understand why.

It makes him laugh, probably a touch deranged.

“Stand down, asset!” A different soldier commands, gun drawn, but Silas snorts and blows his head clean off his shoulders. What little is left of it hits the wall behind him with a surprisingly loud sound.

He laughs again, even louder, especially deranged. It’s in his veins now and it spreads through him quickly, that darkness, that monster. Silas, usually, has a pretty tight leash on it. He isn’t the most emotionally intelligent, and he wouldn’t describe himself as a patient man, but he’s never let the unit — let Wren — see what he really is. They’ve never seen the field tests, the slaughters. Silas is sure they can guess what he’s capable of by looking at him, but they’ve never seen it. Silas was very careful to make sure they’ve never seen it.

He has no control over it now. His body isn’t his own, and the thing wearing his skin was trained for slaughter.

Another soldier he has a particular dislike for, a man they call Church, he creeps up behind Silas like Silas doesn’t know that he’s there.

Silas is kind of mean, so Silas lets him get close. Comfortable. Lets him think he’ll get to walk out of here. Lifts Wound’s gun and shoots a different guy in the dick. His lower body explodes into a mist of blood and chunks of meat.

Church lifts his gun, angled toward the nape of Silas’ neck.

Silas throws back an elbow and Church’s eyeball bursts in its socket.

“Fuck!” Church bellows.

With a grin, Silas turns, and swings his prosthetic foot into his kneecap. It crumbles, and Church falls, dropping onto the broken bits of his knee with another bellow.

He tips his head back and starts muttering something quickly and under his breath. Prayer, Silas had come to learn.

“You’re wasting your breath,” Silas says, and takes him by the chin, hooking his thumb behind his bottom teeth.

“No —“ he starts to say, and Silas rips his jaw from his face.

Church makes a sound like he’s underwater and Silas yanks his tongue from the hole that used to be his mouth. He chokes, and Silas hooks his fingers behind his upper teeth.

One of Church’s hands finds his wrist, pleading.

He snorts and rips his skull in half.

With it, he turns, and he tosses the top half of Church’s head at the soldier drawing nearest. He catches it in his surprise, and Silas grins at him as he grabs a fistful of his hair.

“Ah, fuck!” He cries, and Silas grins a little wider. He gets him to the ground, pins him there with a foot to the back of his neck, and he squirms. Silas stomps on the back of his head, leans all his weight into it, and he stops moving pretty quickly.

A different soldier tries to intervene, and Silas lifts the gun again. The soldier’s head bursts into blood and brain matter.

He doesn’t know how quiet it’s gotten until he hears Point’s voice, louder than anything else: “Silas.”

Silas tenses. Slowly, he turns.

Point is standing offside, just inside the common room. Wren’s on his knees on one side of him, his braid coiled around Point’s fist. Hal’s at his other side, gun to his temple.

Silas exhales slowly. “Darren,” he greets.

Point’s jaw twitches. “Why would you play with their lives like this, Silas?”

Something about it clears the fog a little bit. Wren’s face is shimmery with tears and Hal’s shaking like he might break apart. Silas sucks blood off his teeth and it isn’t his own.

“Don’t risk it, Darren,” Silas says.

“Stop fuckin’ calling me Darren,” Point snaps.

He shrugs him off. “Wren gets to call you Darren.”

“I fuck Wren,” Point spits, and then Silas isn’t in control of himself again.

He doesn’t even realize he’s moved, in fact, but then he’s in the common room, and Point’s throat is in his hands. He’s holding him clean off the ground, holding his mouth open with the end of the machine gun.

At the last second, though, he comes back to himself, and he pulls the gun out of his throat. “Any last words?”

Point, starting to purple in the face, still smirks at him. “Look out.”

And then pain explodes through the back of Silas’ head and everything gets really dark.

Not black, but dim, and when the light is turned back up everything is really blurry. Point is — where’s —

What’s — ?

And Wren is screaming, wailing, from somewhere really close but really far away, and Silas thinks, fuck.

He fucked up. Wren had specifically requested not to watch him die.

He lifts a hand slowly, and it shakes the whole time. It presses it to the bullet hole he finds at the back of his head. It’s hot to the touch, and for some reason that makes him really dizzy.

“I’m sorry,” he tries to say, but he doesn’t.

He vomits acid onto the concrete and keels over after it, face first. He gurgles just once before he dies.

[whumpsoda]

Would it be all right to write about Adrastus entrancing a new student to the study group? Asking for a friend, who is me

@oliversrarebooks

WOHEO Masterlist This one’s a long one! Very excited about it :3

cw: lady whumpee, hypnosis, brainwashing, vampire whumper, kidnapping

———————————————————————

Beatrice swallowed, carefully absorbing the sight lied out in front of her.

She had finally caved, finally told Mary she would accept the excessive, repeated invite of hers. Even after taking eerie notice of the effects this group seemed to have on students, she bad still given a yes. Strangely, no one was seemingly as skeptical as her.

It was odd how her friend’s eyes glazed over with an unfocused touch just talking about the event, a dazed grin spreading over her lips. We’re always open to newbies, she had said, practically drooling imagining this so-called study group, only causing more of a stir of wariness inside of Beatrice’ belly.

Though, at the same time, Beatrice had agreed to go. Even with aching suspicion tugging at her mind, the need to study urged her to take the slightest of a brave chance, just to see what this was all about. Maybe to find if her caution was warranted. Dearly, she hoped it wasn’t it.

At the very least, Bea could not say it wasn’t cozy.

Blankets, pillows, bean bags, and stuffed toys littered the carpet, now light pink and fuzzy after the infamous librarian had arranged for the old stuff to be replaced. The smell of lavender sifted through the tight air, filling her nose and unknowingly calming her pounding heart.

Students filed in behind her, frames drooping and movement gradually slowing almost as soon as they entered. Beatrice shivered with uncertain unease. It was all too much not to raise concern.

“We meet right over there.” Mary told her, placing a hand to her shoulder. That same, chilling smile was already plastered back across her face, churning about Bea’s belly. “But I’ll take you to meet sir, first.”

Sir? Mary hadn’t called them that before.

“It’s alright-,” she didn’t like how almost the whole room shifted her head, and how it flipped her stomach in knots. Beatrice was already prepared to leave, and quickly.

“Why, hello there! Is this our newest recruit?” Someone called, pulling the pair’s attention.

The librarian, with their luxurious outfit- far too fancy for a school setting, that was for sure- sauntered up, sweet yet sly. They must have taken swift notice of Beatrice’ heed. “I’m just kidding, dear. What might your name be, darling?”

They pressed a gentle finger to her forearm, a touch that scattered her thoughts with fog in a quick instant. “Oh, I was just, um… um… leaving.” Was she really leaving? Her thoughts were scrambled inside of her head, hard to reach while she was so focused on the ginger rub of fingers over her skin.

“Her name… ‘s Beatrice, sir…” Mary whispered, keened toward their immense aura that seemingly swirled the two right in. 

“Beatrice? What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Mind if I call you Bea?” Her stomach tensed. No one called her that except close friends. Too distracted by the flutter of a compliment and the brush of a thumb over her skin, words to reply drifted far out of reach. Luckily, the librarian did not waste time waiting for a response. “Wonderful! I have a hunch you may already know, but my name is Adrastus. You, my dear, may call me sir.”

“H- huh…?” Such a title seemed much too formal. Although, it seemed everyone was calling them that… it couldn’t be that weird. Could it?

Adrastus didn’t allow her a moment to dwell. “Come along, darling, let me introduce you to the group!” Pulling her along with their slender, smooth arms, she stumbled behind their graceful stride to where the numerous other students had gathered.

Bea swayed in her spot as they stopped, unable to keep herself afloat and dizzy as the room spun below her. Was she sick? She just knew she should have left.

“Hello, my loves!” The librarian- no, sir- sung aloud, catching the attention of the already hazy group. “This is our newest guest, Bea. Say, hello Bea!”

The group repeated their greeting in a neat fashion, although voices dropped lazy and slow. Most students were already tucking in for sleep as it seemed, sprawled over blankets and one another. Unusual for what was advertised as a meet up meant for studying.

Adrastus guided her slowly drooping frame to an open seat made from a pile of lush pillowing, one she plopped right into. Bea sighed in contentment as she allowed the fabric to swallow her whole.

Soon enough multiple other drowsy minded students rolled over her limbs, trapping her in place with discomfort. She then groaned in displeasure.

Leaning down and whispering, Adrastus set a string of her hair back into place. “How are you doing, love? Comfortable?”

She wriggled around the others, bodies confining her and skin touching that of strangers. “I, um… I’m not… sure…” Beatrice muttered, anxiety crawling it’s way around her insides.

“That’s okay, that’s okay. Just relax for me.” They stroked over her supple skin, pushing her further back and gumming up her head.

“But… when ‘re we gonna study…?”

“In a bit, baby, soon here now. Just take a deep breath and close your eyes.”

Although weakly, Beatrice resisted as they tried to shut her eyes for her. “Don’t… like… leave…”

“You are a bit anxious, aren’t you?”

Their words spun her in circles, her cobweb filled brains unable to keep up with their swift speech. “I guess… um…”

“How adorable. That’s just fine. I can work with that.” Adrastus muttered, more so to themself than her.

“‘M… con… fused…”

“Sure you are. But everything is just fine, okay? Just get all nice and sleepy, letting it wash over you all nicely.” 

“Wash… over…?” The wave of their nimble fingers down her frame was freakishly heavenly, a sensation so beautiful she’d never before felt. Beatrice fell limp almost instantly, so overwhelmed by the magic of the whole situation.

“Yes, dear. Let it take hold of your little body, sending you numb and reeling into slumber. Sir will take good care of you while you sleep.”

“Don’t… can’t…”

“Oh, yes you can,” They corrected. “Good girls like you need sleep. I just know you’re so tired, your whole body is reaching for slumber.”

“Sleep… good…”

“Yes, dear. Sleep.” 

Beatrice had no clue how long she was out, dancing through dreams and listening to the sweet voice of the librarian at the flick of their wrist. She merely gave up her will for however long proved fit, leaving her mind well devoid of thought.

It was… fine. Once she finally awoke Bea had dutifully said her goodbyes to her sir, stumbling out from the building as drowsy and hazy as everyone else. Sure, she barely retained a moment of the night, but with her head still buzzing with slumber she must have just fallen asleep. 

How silly of her to have been so afraid. Nothing was off in the slightest.

…

Beatrice promised herself that this time, she would study. She would not fall to her body’s need for slumber, and would in turn remember the night in full. Very much unlike the first visit to the library.

She had neatly arranged her things in the midst of sprawled out, snoring students, burning with roaring determination. Even if, oddly, no one else seemed to be doing much studying, Beatrice was going to make the most out of the chance to do so.

But, in a strange turn of events,

Beatrice was crying.

Her cheeks flushed vibrant red with embarrassment, eagerly wiping tears away with her wrists.

She had no clue as to what had come over her. Why the work was so painfully difficult, why her head was clouding and gradually slowing, leaving her mind muddled in confusion. Why students flopped around her, touching all over absentmindedly. Why all she wanted to do was sleep. 

A hand snuck down her neck, brushing it’s way over her shivering spine. She twitched in surprise before melting under the contact. “Oh dear, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t, um, don’t…” Beatrice turned to face the glimmering face of the librarian, eyes blurring with moisture. “So confused!”

“Oh, baby. Tell me what’s bothering you.” They pouted, curling up beside her with concern. Beatrice yearned for their aid, for their pity, and her heart fluttered at the notion of her sir paying her specific attention.

“Don’t, um, so confused… uncomfy…!” Furling into a ball she exclaimed, expression twisting and muscles tightening.

“Well we don’t want that, do we?”

“Nooo…” Bea whined, wracking her brain for words that were becoming difficult to reach. “Work, uh, hard… ‘m head hurt…”

“Of course, dear. Your little mind is too distracted by the difficulties of school!” All the while they spoke arms slithered around the distraught woman, hoisting her into their lap and swaddling her sweet. Almost in likeness to a parent and their beloved child. Beatrice instinctively accepted the warmth of their hold. “You must relax, love.”

“But… gotta study…” she reached lazily for her work, arms far too restricted by the librarian’s hold to complete the act. Though, she didn’t really mind, the embrace growing warm and splendidly comfortable.

Maybe… 

Maybe she could relax… 

Just for a moment. The wash of calm that gently rolled over her was to great to ignore, just enough of a push to force her into acceptance.

“Goodness, you are determined, aren’t you? Even while all confused and sad. How cute.” They brushed her face with their sleeve, tickling her with pleasure and wiping her tear stained cheeks. “Come on over, my loves. Gather around, let’s help our dear Bea, here.” Their voice raised, calling out to the other dazed out students.

Soon enough strangers were crawling their way over, slow and sleepy, eyes all unfocused and glassy. They collapsed in a heap around the two, all smiles and content.

“Don’t, um, I don’t… like it…” Beatrice mumbled, twisting closer to the chest of the librarian and away from the others. Still, she couldn’t ignore the turmoil of seein

Pressing a peck to her forehead, their hands rubbed tender circles over her flesh as they whispered. “Yes you do. It feels so very delightful to be surrounded by your fellow classmates, heads empty and smiles wide.”

“Oh… delightful…” she mewled, eyes glazing over like all the others.

“You want to come back. To take the time to dance around in this bliss with all of your little companions, and to see your sir.”

“Want… come back… sir…”

“Good girl. So good. Now take this time to calm, and get some well needed sleep.”

“Calm… sleep…” She could do that for her sir. So very deeply she wanted to obey, and obey Beatrice would.

Settling her back into the heap of sleeping students, Adrastus hummed a quiet whisper. “Sweet dreams, baby. Sir will be right by your side for as long as you need.”

…

Every night that Bea returned to see her sir proved so much better than the last. The first few were so very magical and mind melting, the thoughts of floating through such pleasant clouds her sir planted through her mind were all she could think about during the day. Beatrice was obsessed.

Because they were her sir. She was their favorite, and everyone knew it, Bea was sure. 

She was always picked first for blood draws, always welcomed with more soft touches and kind coos than everyone else, even getting the longest of her own private study sessions with her sir.

Bea was sure she was the favorite, and favorites cannot stop coming back for more. Even if her grades were dropping and her mind was gradually coming to a halt, the thought of distancing herself from the magnificent librarian never dared to enter her mind.

Just like now. Slumped against her sir’s leg, drooling over their calf from the corner of a strung up, dopey smile. Sir’s fingers twirled nimbly through her hair, gentle and kind, just like them. She shivered with blissful sensations.

“Alright, dear,” they started, breaking through the silence of the library, words hushed and light, fingers receding from her locks. “It's sleepy time, okay?”

Lazily Bea clawed for their touch to return, puppy eyes twisting with puzzled hurt. “B- but… like looking at sir…”

“I know, I know, but I need to get up for just a moment.” They climbed to their feet, beginning their journey away from Beatrice, an action that did not sit well with her. She did not want her master to leave, detested it. Especially if the reason was to go dote on anyone else that wasn’t her.

“But… but…”

Adrastus patted her head lightly, bouncing the worries from her brain with a swish of bliss. “I’ll be right back, I know you are quick to miss me. Do not worry your pretty little head.” They gave her that gentle, soft smile they always did, that fluttered the endeared butterflies in her tummy.

Bea melted into that of a puddle of smiling sludge, too distracted by her sir’s spell to think much at all. “Okay… sir…” 

“Good girl.” They nodded, heels clacking off as they ventured to who knows where, Bea’s cheek making its soft descent into the carpet.

Soon enough her sir returned to Bea’s delight, only, her satisfaction contorted in distress as she took notice of the dazed out student trailing behind them, hand in hand. His head craned to the side, ready to donate blood. 

“Sir! Nooo!” She squealed on instinct, crawling desperately to claw at their ankles in the attempt to cease their betrayal. How could they do that to her? She was right there, so ready to donate or do anything her sir so wished, and they chose someone else? 

Adrastus tisked, face firming. “Shhhh, hush, dear. So loud for someone supposedly asleep.” They cupped her cheek, so delicate it almost distracted her from the pain of their treacherous actions.

“Why… ‘re, why’re you taking him…?” She whispered, anger twisting to pitiful hurt, as she leaned right into the touch of their soft skin.

They booped her nose. “That’s none of your concern, baby.”

“But you love me! Me! Take… me!” They had to! She wanted so badly to be of use to them, to be loved by them more than anyone else. They had to see that, didn’t they?

“Calm down. Sleep, now.” They commanded, stroking down her skull in a wash of drowsiness, so immense she could never have resisted, no matter how much distress she was in.

She whined, loud enough to stir a few others from sleep. “But… but mine…”

“Remember what I told you?”

Her sir’s words flew up and out of her memory, plastering to the walls of her brain and filling her up with mind boggling sensations of goodness. “Master… Bea is, um, master’s favorite… al… always…” the repetition reassured her, feeding her back into the trance of her sir’s. “Good… good girls ‘re… um… good girls listen to sir…”

Their face softened, gentle and tender and so very loving it as they settled her head back to the floor. She had forgotten completely what had been so horrifying she had made such a dreadful scene, and with oncoming unconsciousness did not have the mind to think about it. “Remember that always  my dear. Meet me after group, okay? I’ll grant your every little wish then.”

“Oh… ‘kay…” Bea nuzzled into the lush rug below her, purring with warmth. “Love you… sir…”

With one more pat to the head Adrastus huffed a grin, licking her ears with a sweet whisper. “Of course you do.”

…

“But… but I don’t want you to leave…” Bea whimpered, raw with confusion and anguish.

“I know, baby, I know.” Her sir soothed, petting her kindly as she curled in their lap. 

“You can’t… please…!” How could they leave her, just like that? How could she possibly live without them? Even their blissful magic proved futile against the pain of their horrid news.

“Oh, darling I’ll be back. It’s just for a few weeks. A simple vacation.”

Bea whined, guttural and grating, an animalistic noise that gnawed at her throat, so overcome by the desperation of needing her sir to get by. “But… I can’t… without you…!” She could never survive without their pleasant touches and words. How had she ever done so before?

They chuckled condescendingly, still sweet to their pet’s ears. “Yes, love, I know. So helpless without master, you are.” 

“Mhm, mhm!” Bea nodded, so very eager for her sir to understand. 

“Pitiful, really, but so very cute.” They scratched below her chin, sending her reeling back into the void of mindlessness for a mere moment. 

They just had to see how helpless she was without them! They had to know how dearly she depended on them! “S… stay…?” She whispered, meek and timid.

“I told you, pumpkin, I can’t.”

“Please! Please!” She squealed, clawing at their exquisite dress. They clutched her wrists, rubbing over her skin with those wondrously heart pulsing thumbs of theirs.

“I have business to attend to, darling, I simply cannot. Tell you what though, my dear,” They started, their endearing grin creeping its way over their lips, melting Bea into a puddle of adoration. “How would you like to accompany me?”

Bea’s heart practically stopped, words choking in a bubble in her throat. “R- really? Really?”

They smiled, satisfied with her unbridled excitement. “Yes, love. Doesn’t that just sound wonderful? Meet with me right after group, and I’ll take you home. To your new home.” Her sir cupped her chin, mixing her mind with heaven and glee.

“Oh, sir, I, I love you… sir…” Bea mewled, blindly prepared to start a new life with her sir. What could ever be better?

“I know, dear. I love you too.”

“Love… you… can’t wait…”

They pulled her tight, hugging in an embrace of love and care. “Me neither.” Bea had no clue what was yet to come.

———————————————————————

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @iys-cloud @battyfantasy @xx-adam-xx @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @mis-graves @3-2-whump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[treehuggerthegreat]

something i really need to get off my chest even if i just post this privately is That i really dislike ‘caretakers’ in whump writing. or ‘whumper’ i feel like it makes a character (even if they’re just a hypothetical one) feel very 1 dimensional and it makes me so OKAY JUST HEAR ME OUT!!! whumpee i don’t mind much, it makes the prompt or what your talking about a little clearer. But it feels like it’s putting it into a box and making sort of roles which makes it feel less like a prompt and more like we’re in an omega verse fandom and i mean this really lovingly and affectionately and no hate to any of yall. I have a vast amount of characters and i write stories and books and I can say with out a shadow of a doubt, not ONE of them fall under ‘whumper’ or ‘caretaker’ because i develop them as their own individual character. Not even my antagonist are ‘whumpers’

So one of my main antagonists literally burns cigarettes on the MC and abuses the MC. Tries to kill her on her 18th birthday. Shes her mom, and the main character PHYSICALLY cannot leave that situation with out getting the authorities involved until she turns 18. Mom sounds like an ass, she beats ‘whumpee’ up! why would i NEVER call her a whumper? because she’s a whumpee by that logic. Her mom was extremely emotionally abusive, and half the time not fully there. Her shitty ass dad got murdered in front of her when she was just a kid. but Her mom isn’t a whumper either, because she too would be considered a whumpee. She was a world renowned flapper girl, everyone loved her. she LIVED for the fame and her face in newspapers. But behind the scenes she was actively ignoring her distant parents as they continued to try and marry her off. She was then forced into the marriage when she got pregnant with the guy (much so against her will which is why she killed him.) and ever since she’s been delusional and not fully there. It’s generational abuse.

more ramble under the cut + extra clarification on what I’m trying to say

okay but that’s just generational abuse right? There are other whumpers in the real world! Yeah i guess there’s sadists and serial killers, but like, there’s SOOOO much more guys.

I have a mini antagonist, he’s in highschool and he’s meant to be the toxic narcissistic ex of one of my characters. But he’s falling apart trying to get attention, he’s not fully aware of the damage he IS doing. Ass he may be but again behind the scenes he’s constantly fighting with his dad who refuses to do anything around the house and who is also transphobic (she’s bigender but i’ve been using he to make it less confusing right now) and now she has to take care of her little sister and act like a whole ass mom. As a sophomore. In high school. Not only that but her mom died, so she has to struggle with that. She’s just an annoying ass teenager, she doesn’t understand how to treat people or how she’s supposed to be handling what she’s dealing with. But getting attention and being liked at school? now that’s the shit. That’s like drugs for her. But to what lengths does she go to get that extra validation? He uses his boyfriend almost like an accessory. He’s not considerate of his feelings, and most likely doesn’t understand what a relationship is SUPPOSED to be.

Unless you’re making a sociopath character, which i LOVE a good sociopath character, you have to treat them like they also have humanity. Most of the time villains don’t just. Do shit to do it, they have some sort of background that lead up to this!!! And also even then with sociopaths they’re their own individual characters separate from the people they hurt!!! and also NONE of these are end all be alls and all characters must be developed this way!!!!

just my advice and stuff <3 i love all of you out there and i can understand why using certain roles and terms are the go to, and i’m not stopping you!!! i just really wanted to give my two cents so i can possibly help other writers!!!

[whumpshaped]

For something soft, a whumper turned whumpee/ex villain type getting actual forgiveness and affection and care on top of it, their poor guilty little soul getting the support they need so bad finally and just /melting/ in their caretakers arms, filled with new and true determination to make things right

i strayed a little from the prompt sorry. but i think it turned out ok :)

tw bullying mention, past trauma, injuries, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker

Whumper was barely conscious as Caretaker gently cleaned their bloody face with a damp cloth. They couldn't keep their swollen eyes open, nor could they force their dried up tongue and chapped lips to form any words. Even a questioning hum proved to be too much, sending them into a coughing fit.

"Hush," Caretaker whispered. "We'll talk when you're better."

They couldn't feel the bite of the rope around their wrists and ankles, and they wondered whether their body was too numb to register the sensation. They attempted, experimentally, to move around a bit; nothing was stopping them.

Caretaker didn't comment on it.

They blinked a couple times before giving up entirely, letting their eyes rest. It only took a few moments before they fell asleep.

-

"You need to drink."

Whumper squinted in the direction of the voice, finding it once again to belong to Caretaker. They struggled to sit, even with assistance, but they managed to down a few sips.

As they lay back down, they fixed their saviour with a look of disbelief. Caretaker pretended not to notice, staring intently at the worn-out blanket they used to cover Whumper's body.

"You sent me away," Whumper rasped eventually.

It was true. They had sent gifts, money, anything Caretaker needed. They had tried their best to make it right. They had showed up in person, asking for their forgiveness like a fool. Caretaker had shut the door in their face, but only after yelling and threatening to call the police.

Hell, they had made peace with it. They had made peace with the fact that what they'd done was beyond fixing, they were beyond redemption, and all they could do was grovel until their days ran out. Maybe then, after their death, someone would look back at their life and acknowledge that they'd tried.

And yet, after all that, Caretaker was washing the blood off their face and helping them drink water.

"I know," Caretaker replied, as if Whumper had brought it up because they thought they'd forgotten.

There was nothing to fill the silence but their own, ragged breathing. It wasn't a very pleasant sound, and Whumper wished Caretaker would just go on and explain what was happening. They didn't.

"So why–" They began coughing again, and Caretaker helped them sit and drink more when it subsided.

"I heard you talking to that kid. That's why. Just stop making yourself choke over it."

Whumper furrowed their brows, not sure what that had to do with anything. Caretaker huffed out a breath.

"Isn't that why you got all beat up? Because you decided to go 'talk' to those big bullies? Don't act like that's not super out of character for you. Like I shouldn't even be surprised or anything." They looked away, shrugging a little. "'twas nice of you, is all. The kid saw the entire thing. Rushed to me and asked me to help you."

Ah. It wasn't about them. It was about the kid.

Whumper slowly nodded, debating whether to waste their remaining breath on 'thank you' or 'sorry'. They settled on showing their gratitude, since their apology had already been rejected enough times. Caretaker still just waved them off.

"I didn't think you'd actually changed, you know. Like, at all." They shrugged again. It was probably a nervous habit. "Well, I suppose your methods are still the same, and I still don't condone violence or anything... But there have been worse reasons for starting a fight than getting back a stuffed animal."

They continued fidgeting for a while, then just stood up and left the room without another word. Whumper didn't stop them. They couldn't have, even if they wanted to.

-

"You look a lot better today," Caretaker said carefully. Their tone was measured, never betraying too much of what they were actually thinking.

"Thanks," Whumper muttered. "And thanks for helping out. I can just... leave now."

Caretaker hummed. "Stay another day. You still look like a summer breeze could knock you over. Just... maybe a bit of a stronger breeze than yesterday."

"If I see the kid, I won't tell them you kicked me out or anything. I'm sure they just meant for you to call an ambulance anyway–"

"Do you think this is about the kid?" they asked, seemingly very confused. In turn, Whumper stared back at them with the same expression.

"It isn't?"

Caretaker sighed. "Look..."

Whumper waited patiently. They were definitely looking, but Caretaker couldn't find the right words to express what they wanted to. "Sorry," they blurted out when the pause was starting to become uncomfortably long. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

"I know. That's... part of why you're in my room. Because– because the thing is, the old you wanted to put me on the spot all the time. And you'd never catch me dead housing the old you. But..." They hesitated, chewing on their bottom lip. "You changed. You really did change. It's just– you had no... well, unless this is a super elaborate plan, you had no idea I overheard the conversation. Or– or any incentive to go get beat up for a plushie. You couldn't have known any of it. And it just... made me think more about... last year, and how you tried to fix things..."

"You're not doing this out of guilt, are you?" Whumper's stomach churned at the thought. "I get why you didn't forgive me, it's fine, I'm a grown adult, I realise–"

"God, no!" Caretaker snapped. They shrank back right after, rubbing their arm nervously. "Sorry. Maybe– maybe a little. Well... well, it's like, I don't regret not forgiving you then. I didn't know whether you were lying. You could've been."

"I could've been," they echoed, attempting to reassure them.

"But you weren't. And I think I know that now. So I think I'll forgive you this time around."

Whumper's eyes widened when they processed the words. They were spoken so quickly, too quickly, like Caretaker was embarrassed to say them. "What?"

"I went to therapy, I read the self-help books, I know I should forgive you. That it'd make me feel better. Not in a hippie sort of way where we now hug and kiss, but like... sorry, I don't even know what I'm saying. It's not like I decided to forgive based on a book. God, I sound like such a weirdo."

"No," they cut in. "No, it's okay. You don't. You just sound nervous." Caretaker gave them a timid smile, the first they'd seen from them in ages. It was gone in a flash. "I... I don't even know what to say. I've imagined this so many times–" The tears came out of nowhere. They cut themself off abruptly so they could prevent a full on crying session, turning towards the window and blinking rapidly.

"Me too, I guess," Caretaker admitted sheepishly. "I didn't sound like a weirdo in my head."

"Stop saying that," they choked out, but it turned into a chuckle, which turned into a sob. They wanted to ask again and again, 'Do you really mean that? Do you honestly forgive me? Is this a joke?' But they restrained themself. It seemed hard enough to say once. "Thank you. I can't believe it. I really can't."

"Will you stay another day, then? We could talk a bit more and all that." Whumper nodded, and they were rewarded with another one of those elusive smiles. "Cool. I'll bring you a tissue."

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Whumptember day 28

“I never should have let it come this far” Failed hero | Hospital stay | Begging for help

Content warning: Some of Whumpee’s dialogue could sound like suicidal ideation. Self-harm in the form of overworking. 

Whumpee couldn’t sleep. They rarely could, but it was especially bad when they were stuck in the hospital. They felt useless, desperate to claw their way from underneath the covers and get something done. More than that however, Whumpee was being kept awake by an overwhelming feeling of dread. Though they knew it was childish, they felt like a little kid waiting for a scolding.

They tried not to flinch when Caretaker walked in.

“Oh thank god–,” Caretaker rushed to their side, falling into the bedside chair and grabbing their hand. They were panting slightly, as if they’d run all the way to the hospital. “I came as soon as I could; I was so worried when they said you collapsed. What happened?!”

It was the question Whumpee had dreaded hearing. Not that it mattered, because Caretaker already knew the answer. As soon as their brain caught up, as soon as they noticed the bags under Whumpee’s eyes and the ink stains on their fingers, they’d realize. Whumpee averted their gaze.

Sure enough, Caretaker’s expression fell. “Whumpee–,”

“I know, alright? I overdid it. We don’t need to have this argument again,” Whumpee cut them off, pulling their arm away.

Caretaker didn’t look convinced. “We clearly do. You’re supposed to be in recovery Whumpee, not spending all day running yourself ragged. When was the last time you got a full night’s sleep? The last time you ate an actual meal?”

“I’m fine. I can do all that once this is over, and it won’t be until Whumper is caught.”

Caretaker sighed, some of the frustration in their expression fading. “We all want to see them caught, but we don’t know when that’s going to happen. You can’t put your recovery on hold for something that could take years.”

Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut, cursing themselves were the spike of terror that ran through them at the thought. Years. It could take years to find Whumper. What if Whumper found them first?

The beeping of Whumpee’s heart monitor sped up. Caretaker was kind enough not to mention it.

“You’re hurting yourself, and I can’t just watch you do it.” Caretaker’s voice wavered. “Do you know how scared I was when the hospital called me? Terrified. I thought,–I was so scared that something horrible had happened to you. You have to understand how much it hurts me to see you like this.”

Whumpee did understand, and they hated it. They hated making Caretaker worry, hated being the reason for their tears. It gnawed at Whumpee, making them feel guilt for something they had to do. They had to find Whumper.

Whumpee’s eyes stung, a shiver running down their spine. They bit their lip. “I should have never let it come this far. The reason I have to do this is because–,” because they’d been a coward. They’d been so terrified of Whumper, so terrified of everything, that they couldn’t bring themselves to leave the comfort of their bed. They’d wasted so much time. “--because I was being lazy. If I’d acted sooner, Whumper wouldn’t have had the chance to get so far. Now I have to catch up.”

“Lazy? Whumpee, you were recovering! You should still be recovering. You went through something horrible; nobody expects you to just be fine afterwards,” They could hear the tears in Caretaker’s voice. Caretaker grabbed their hand again, and this time Whumpee didn’t pull away. “Just–look at me.”

Whumpee did. Tears dripped down Caretaker’s face, their expression pleading. Whumpee could feel them shaking. “You’re killing yourself Whumpee, and I can’t watch it happen!” Caretaker shouted, choking back tears. “I can’t lose you again, not after everything that’s happened!”

Whumpee couldn’t stand to see them like this. “I’m right here, you’re not losing anything.

Caretaker shook their head. They held Whumpee tighter, as if terrified that they’d vanish right before them. “Please Whumpee, you have to stop this.”

But Whumpee knew they couldn’t stop. Not yet, maybe not ever.

At least if they were dead, Whumpee thought as Caretaker sobbed, they wouldn’t have to be so afraid of Whumper anymore.

[willowthewhump]

"Your only job right now is to stay awake. And more importantly, stay silent."

Those were the last words Whumpee heard before his life was over. Before the normally subtle drip, drip, dripping of his IV began to pound in his ears. Before he lost his arm, and fuck, his arm-

Drip.

It hurt like hell. No, not even hell could compare to this. She'd said she was testing for something, but all he felt like was an innocent little butterfly being toyed with for some kid's scrapbook. Strapped down on her stupid little operating table with all her tools centered in his vision. That is, if he decided to look. But how could he look away? God, it was almost like he was being sawed into. Whumper had to be doing this on purpose.

Drip.

It was a little too late to focus on his feelings, though. Not like he could scream even if he needed to wanted to. He could feel it itching at the back of his throat, trying to crawl its way out of his larynx. He was going to break, it was too much, he just can't-

Drip.

He woke with a start. As he fully sat up, he noticed a few things. A backache, for one, and the irritation in his throat. He was either talking in his sleep or he screamed again. Probably both. Whumpee's arm was throbbing, down from his shoulder to his hand, neither of which he owned anymore. Substituted with some shoddy fucking replacement.

Then, a knocking sound.

"Mm..." He groaned. That should suffice a response, he really didn't feel like going through the whole 'are you okay' charade again. It was exhausting. Not after this nightmare..Not after this one, he couldn't.

"Another nightmare?" Caretaker asked, a little too awake for passed midnight. They definitely hadn't been to sleep, Whumpee gathered. At least their being awake wasn't something he had to apologize for.

"Can we even really call them nightmares anymore? I think when it gets to screaming they just call 'em night terrors."

"...Are you alright?"

As the bags under his eyes bwcame apparent in the room as Caretaker's eyes finally adjusted to the windowless room, Whumpee spoke.

"I don't think you want my answer to that question."

[mj-iza-writer]

Hello, MJ!! I’ve stumbled upon your works only recently, and I already have a few favourite ones! The ones with the tag “care whimper” (especially about a toothache) :)

So, I have a request for you, if it’s okay for you: )

What about a whumpee, who was initially a hostage, but now they and their whumper have kind of a peaceful relationship.

And one day the whumper (preferably someone who works as a doctor) comes home to a sick whumpee, who is trying desperately not to show that. And you know what I’ve been thinking about? Otitis! Because ear infections are underestimated in the whump community. And, trust me, it sucks. Just imagine the poor grey faced whumpee, unable to even think straight, and all the sounds are blurred, and the pain….

Yes, I love this idea. Thank you for the request, I always look forward to request.

I hope you enjoy.

Whumpee was on the way to the bathroom when they saw Whumper pull in.

They cupped their ear tightly, hoping to relieve some pressure from their ear.

"Mmph, why is he home?", they looked at the clock, "crap I didn't call during lunch to check in with him, he's going to be ticked."

"Whumpee?", Whumper called as they stepped into the house, "where are you? You better have a good reason for not checking in, then ignoring my call."

"Crap, I didn't hear the phone ring", Whumpee sighed, "he's already mad. There's no need to frustrate him even more with me being sick."

"Whumpee don't make me count to three", Whumper called more sternly.

Whumpee walked out into the hall, "sorry sir, I was in the um, bathroom."

"Then why didn't you say that", Whumper sighed, "if you're ignoring me it better stop."

"I'm sorry I forgot to call, I didn't hear the phone ring either. It wasn't on purpose", Whumpee looked down shyly.

Whumper pulled his cellphone out and called the house number.

"You didn't hear that?", Whumper asked as the phone rang loudly, "you're kidding."

Whumpee shook their head no, then instantly felt dizzy.

Whumper watched them lean against the wall as they fought the dizziness.

"Are you feeling okay?", Whumper stepped over to them.

"Yes sir, I feel alright", Whumpee faked a smile, "why are you home so early?"

"I had my day shortened today for some time off. There were too many doctors in today", Whumper placed the back of his hand on Whumpee's forehead, "hmm, you feel feverish. You sure you don't have anything to tell me, I'll find out if you're hiding something in a matter of minutes."

"N-no sir, I'm feeling okay", Whumpee wished to hide.

"Okay, well we'll see about that", Whumper frowned, "go sit on your bed, I'll be in soon."

Whumpee gulped, "okay. I'm sorry. My ear is throbbing and burning. It hurts really bad. I can't hear very well right now, and I'm starting to feel dizzy."

"And you thought it would be a good idea to hide that from me?", Whumper sighed as they helped Whumpee to their room.

"I'm sorry, I knew you were mad at me, I didn't want to frustrate you further", Whumpee sighed as Whumper helped them into bed, "plus I didn't know what kind of day you had, I didn't want to bombard you with issues when you got home."

"Wait here", Whumper sighed.

He came back carrying his home medical supplies.

"Although I appreciate you thinking of me like that", he pulled out a thermometer and placed it in Whumpee's mouth, "I'd rather you tell me, so I can take care of it quickly instead of making me guess."

Whumpee watched as Whumper read the thermometer.

"Yep slightly elevated", Whumper grabbed a few more things, "let's do a quick check up, then we'll deal with the ear."

Whumper quickly did the checks, "aren't you lucky to have a doctor for a kidnapper?"

Whumpee rolled their eyes, "you know doctor and kidnapper don't sound right in that context "

"Trust me, I'm aware", Whumper grinned, "to be fair, you are in a better situation than you were in before I took you. Unless you want to go back to the streets."

"No", Whumpee looked at him quickly, "no please."

"That's what I thought", Whumper pulled out his otoscope and checked the ears, "I'm guessing this is the one", Whumper looked up when he was done.

"Yes sir", Whumpee nodded, then got dizzy again, "hmm", they grabbed their head.

"It looks irritated, I'm guessing otitis", Whumper stood.

"O-what", Whumpee looked at him.

"Otitis, an ear infection", Whumper grinned, "it's painful, and normally last a few days."

Whumpee frowned, "can you do anything for it?"

"It normally heals itself, I can do things to relieve the pain though. If it gets bad I'll have someone write a script for antibiotics", Whumper sighed, "how long has this been going on?"

"I woke up with it sir, it wasn't bad this morning, so I thought it would go away. It got worse a while after you left for work", Whumpee held their ear, "there is so much pressure."

"Okay let's have you lay down, I'll be right back", Whumper left the room.

Whumpee whimpered, they felt worse after talking about everything going on.

Whumper came back in time to see a tear escape Whumpee's eyes.

"Hey, it's okay", Whumper patted Whumpee's head, "I'll get you feeling better."

"I don't feel good", Whumpee started to cry, "I feel like my head is going to blow up."

"Okay, shh", Whumper whispered, "it's all going to be okay. I've got you."

Whumper offered a few pills and helped Whumpee take them with some water.

"That should help relieve the fever and pain", Whumper sighed as he watched Whumpee try to get comfortable.

Whumper made a warm compress and held it on Whumpee's ear.

"This will help as well", Whumper whispered, "I'd like for you to take a nap, I'll hold this on your ear while you fall asleep. Rest will help your body heal more than anything."

Whumper held the compress in place and rubbed Whumpee's head while they started to doze off.

Whumper smiled when Whumpee had finally fallen asleep.

He made a new hot compress and put that over Whumpee's ear.

"My poor little hostage", Whumper whispered as they gently stroked Whumpee's face, "ear aches are not fun, I can't imagine how much pain you've been in today."

Whumpee scrunched their face a little and let out a tiny whimper before relaxing again.

Whumper smiled, "rest well, Whumpee, you'll be okay, I promise."

Thankyou again for the request prompt, I don't get them very often, and I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you enjoyed.

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

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

No Place Feels Like Home

a version of this from whumpee's perspective, with ocs cuz i'm planning on turning this into a series <3

cw age gap, intimate whumper, power dynamic

The freezing air outside was a stark contrast to the inside of the house. The heat of so many bodies pressed together in the basement had left Thomas sweaty and flushed in his wool sweater, but now, standing on the porch, he wished he’d worn more layers. Winters in Jersey were unforgiving. He took another drag from his cigarette in hopes of keeping warm—it didn’t quite do the trick, but the burning in his chest was a distraction, at least. 

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” 

Thomas looked up in surprise at the guy walking toward him, leather jacket over a Refused shirt. Dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and he was wearing the kind of smirk that Thomas knew would get him into trouble if he wasn’t careful. He'd always been a sucker for bad boys. 

He held the other man’s gaze, raising the cigarette to his lips again. Thomas blew out a cloud of smoke before replying, “What makes you think I have a bedtime?” Surely, he didn’t look that young. 

The guy leaned one shoulder against the wall next to him, leaving just enough distance to be casual. “I don’t mind,” he said, not answering the question. “I mean, we do all ages shows for a reason. I think it’s great for kids to see live music.”

What a jerk—this guy had to be fucking with him. Thomas gave him as scathing a glare as he could manage. “I’m eighteen, actually. But thanks for your concern.” 

“Sorry, you just look young is all.” He was still smiling teasingly. “Didn’t mean to offend you—maybe we could start over? I’m Mateo Ruiz. But everyone calls me Matty.” 

“I know, I came to see your band,” Thomas said, taking another drag on his cigarette. 

He shivered when Mateo looked him up and down. “Yeah? Didn’t realize you were a fan.” 

“Why’s that?” 

Mateo hummed, eyes shining with amusement. “Just don’t look like you’re in the scene. Where’s your sweater from, pretty boy—The Gap?” 

It was, actually, which made Thomas fume even more. “My friend Liz put me onto you guys. She’s really into hardcore stuff, she played me your CD.”

“You’re gonna love it, I promise,” she’d insisted, grinning as they sat cross-legged on her bed. “These guys are gonna be big someday.” 

Thomas rolled his eyes. “That’s what you said about The Unholy Pizza Parlor Apocalypse. And they’ve already broken up.” 

Liz smacked him on the arm. “Okay, but I mean it this time. The melodic hardcore stuff is totally taking off. Aaaaannd the guys are wicked cute.” 

“You’re sick,” Thomas said when she wiggled her eyebrows at him. 

“Oh shit, Liz?” Mateo’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Like, Liz that does the Soundboard zine?” 

Thomas nodded, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall behind him before flicking it over the porch railing. “Yeah, she's here somewhere. Probably chatting up your bandmate—she has a thing for bassists.” 

Mateo nodded, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between them. “And how ‘bout you?” he teased, looking down at Thomas with big, dark eyes he could get lost in. “You look like the type who’d be into singers.” 

“I don’t know...singers are too cocky,” he shot back. “And they’re not as good with their fingers.”

Mateo laughed at that, flashing him a devilish smirk. “You’re funny, kid... Never told me your name, by the way.” 

“Thomas.” The chill that ran down his spine had more to do with the hungry way Mateo was looking at him than the February air. His heart pounded in his ears. 

“Thomas,” Mateo repeated, the name dripping from his tongue like honey. “Suits you.” 

His hands fidgeted with the bottom of his sweater, and he wondered if he should light another cigarette to keep them busy. 

Mateo reached out and brushed Thomas’s hair behind his ear, not paying any mind to the people milling around outside. “Well, I’ll tell you a secret, Tommy,” he said, lowering his voice. “I kind of have a thing for preppy boys who shop at The Gap.” 

“It’s just Thomas,” he whispered, throat dry. 

“Listen.” Fingers trailed down his jaw, and then Mateo’s hand was cupping his cheek. “I haven’t seen you at any shows before, but you seem cool. There’s an afterparty at my place if you wanna come.” 

Thomas hesitated. “I don’t know...I have class in the morning.” 

“Your call. But I'd really like it if you were there.” 

Mateo’s eyes drifted down to his lips for a moment, making the unspoken implication in his statement clear. Despite Thomas’s nervousness, he made no move to back away. “Yeah?” he breathed. 

“Yeah—come party with the rockstars.” He leaned in, breath hot against Thomas’s ear when he spoke. “I promise you’ll have a good time, honey.” 

“Okay. I’ll come,” Thomas agreed. He felt a sick thrill run through him as he wondered if Mateo was as passionate in...other ways...as he was when he performed. 

The singer grinned, fingers ghosting down Thomas’s neck. “Awesome. Let me pack up my equipment and then we’ll get going.”

taglist: @morning-star-whump  

[whumpsmith-participates]

Medwhump May 2024

Day 2 - Running out of time

TW: blood, gun violence, tourniquet, strong language, verbally abusive whumper, whumper turned whumpee, tobacco, dilf in distress, open ending

@medwhumpmay

The roles were always pretty clear between Fetch and Erick. Fetch would give orders and Erick would follow them. If Erick didn't follow them, then Fetch would hurt him. And when Erick got hurt, Fetch would patch him back up.

But roles have a tendency to reverse sometimes, and on the rare instance that it happened between Fetch and Erick, it was usually pretty drastic, like...let's say Fetch took a bullet, and it was up to Erick to get him to safety. Or, well...he got himself to safety first. Driving away from the incident, before pulling over and realising he'd already lost quite a lot of blood. Okay, no reason to panic.

"Kid, come here," he said through gritted teeth.

Erick didn't need to be told twice, for once, scrambling out of his hiding spot in the back of the van and joining Fetch in the front, sitting in the passenger's seat, eyes widening when he saw the blood pooling beneath Fetch's chair.

"A-are you okay, sir?" he asked.

"What does it fucking look like?" Fetch snapped, "get some rope and a screwdriver or a wrench. I'll teach you how to improvise a tourniquet."

"A-and then what?!" Erick asked, "Take you to hospital?"

"Absolutely fucking not!" Fetch said, "They'd call the cops on my ass right away. No, I need to call Tito, but first this!"

"R-right," Erick said, quickly diving back into the back to search Fetch's bag for rope. He didn't have to look too hard. His bag was filled with coild of rope, rolls of tape, cloths, cuffs, chains— But I digress...

Erick grabbed the first coil of rope he found, before opening the toolbox behind the driver's seat, grabbing the first thing he saw; a hammer.

"Will this work?" he asked, showing Fetch the items.

"Good enough," Fetch said with a groan, "tie the rope around my leg, right here."

Erick nodded, wrapping the rope around Fetch's thigh where he pointed and tying a knot in it.

"L-like that?"

"Yeah, now stick the hammer between and twist it to tighten it," Fetch instructed.

"I-isn't that dangerous? To cut off the blood flow like that?" Erick asked.

"That bullet nicked a fucking artery, do you want me to bleed out?!" Fetch snapped, grabbing the teen by the front of his shirt.

"S-sorry, you're right," Erick quickly said, before sliding the hammer underneath the rope as instructed and beginning to turn it to tighten the rope.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," Fetch said, "find a way to fix it in place."

"Tape!" Erick said, quickly retrieving a roll from Fetch's bag, even remembering to grab a piece of cloth as well to put additional pressure on the wound, planning to tape that into place as well, but it was hard to work when Fetch kept pulling away and even kicked at him.

"God damn it! Are you trying to kill me?!" he growled.

"I know it hurts, but I can't help you if you don't stop moving," Erick said.

"Don't talk back to me!"

"I think you can make an exception just this once," Erick said, pressing a bit harder than necessary on his wound.

"Son of a— Fine! Just hurry up!"

"Then hold. Still."

Fetch growled, but tried a bit harder to hold still while Erick finished taping everything into place, before sitting back, absent-mindedly wiping the blood on his hands onto his jeans.

"O-okay, now what?" he asked.

Did Fetch know someone who could treat him? Could they trick someone at the hospital so they wouldn't call the police? Was he even in the right state of mind to think clearly?

"Now we switch seats," Fetch said, already holding his arm out.

Erick somewhat awkwardly let him lean on him as he switched from the driver's seat to the passenger's seat, attempting to hold back a pained groan before pulling his phone from his pocket. Erick sat back on the floor between the two seats still. Even though Fetch had told him they were switching, he still felt it would be wrong to just go sit in his seat without express permission. Was he going to ask him to drive? He'd only had a lesson or two when Fetch happened to have a good day, so he wasn't too sure he was up for it just yet.

"Tito, it's me," Fetch suddenly said, pulling Erick from his thoughts. It seemed he'd finally started his call.

"Jonas? I don't have time for your bullshit, put me through to Tito," Fetch continued, pulling his cigarettes from his pocket and handing them to Erick so he could help him.

Erick gingerly took a cigarette from the pack, handing it to Fetch before taking his lighter and lighting it for him. It sounded like he could use the nicotine to get through the phonecall alone, let alone the fact that he just got shot.

"I don't care if he's having sex with his wife right now. Put him on!" he yelled.

Fetch took a couple of drags from his cigarette while waiting for Jonas to put his boss on the line, almost managing to finish it before he finally got an answer again.

"Tito, about time," he said, "I need a doctor, pronto."

Erick couldn't help but to feel relieved as Fetch got through to Tito. He wouldn't put it past Jonas to stall until Fetch bled out, but it seemed like today wouldn't be the day...yet.

"I don't think I can make it that far. I got two hours and an inexperienced driver. Can't you send someone to meet me halfway?" Fetch explained, "tell them I got an arterial bleed and a tourniquet, they'll understand— Erick start the car."

That seemed like a clear enough order. Erick nodded, quickly getting behind the wheel and needing an attempt or two before he managed to get the van's engine going. He winced a bit, it didn't help his confidence much, but they didn't have much choice. He put on his seatbelt and adjusted the mirrors while waiting for Fetch to finish his phonecall.

"I told you they'd understand," he grumbled, "we're leaving now. I'll call you when we get there."

He hung up, tossing his phone in the little compartment below the radio, before putting on his own seatbelt as well.

"Okay," he said, surprisngly calmly, "check your mirrors, put her in first gear, and if the road is clear, turn on your blinker and slowly take your foot off the clutch until you feel it catch then give a little gas to pull up slowly."

Erick nodded, following his instructions and managing to pull away surprisingly smoothly. Frankly, it was easy to stay calm if Fetch was calm too. He hadn't gone much further than a drive around the block or two in his first driving lessons, so Fetch knew he had to keep the teen calm to be able to get to their destination safely and without being pulled over.

"Okay, now turn onto the ramp and start speeding up. You gotta be going fast enough to merge onto the freeway safely."

"I-I've never driven on the freeway before," Erick said, panicking slightly.

"You were gonna have to do it a first time eventually, now step on the gas," Fetch said, "keep an eye on your mirror, check over your shoulder, and turn on your blinker. People will give you space if you don't cut them off."

"There's no one next to me or behind me," Erick reported, checking over his shoulder before turning on the indicator.

"Small movements on the wheel at this speed," Fetch reminded him.

"Y-yes sir."

"Great, now just stay between the lines, I'll let you know when you have to get off. Keep your speed constant, don't slow down too much, and for the love of god don't speed. We don't need any cops on our ass right now."

"What if there are cops?" Erick asked, suddenly feeling hyper-aware of every vehicle around them.

"You ignore them," Fetch said, "if you act nervous you'll only draw their attention."

"But I am nervous."

"How do you think I feel?! I got shot in the fucking leg!" Fetch snapped.

"Don't yell at me! I'm driving you to your doctor, aren't I?" Erick snapped back.

Fetch looked like he wanted to hit him, but he knew better. Erick also knew very well that his attitude would catch up with him eventually, but for now he was in the right. Fetch needed him right now...wait, maybe Fetch was also scared? Erick immediately felt bad.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, "it's going to be okay. I'll try not to draw any attention to us, and we'll get to your doctor in time, and it's all going to be okay."

"I don't care whether I die or not, but if you don't scrub every inch of this van once we get there, you'll have another thing coming," Fetch grumbled.

"Yes, sir," Erick just said.

Honestly, he was already planning to clean the van as soon as he got the chance. It would give him something to do while waiting for the doctor to treat Fetch, and the slippery pool of blood just below the pedals were already getting on his nerves.

Either way, Fetch settled down a bit, returning to giving directions as calmly as he could. Erick decided to pretend it was just a very long driving lesson, trying his hardest to ignore how pale Fetch was looking, or the tremble in his hand when he pointed to something, or the waver in his voice when he spoke up again after being quiet for a bit.

Eventually they left the freeway, and the city behind them, beginning to drive down long, empty roads. Erick relaxed a bit more. The odds of being seen by police, or causing an accident in his inexperience decreased a lot. However, it seemed Fetch's odds were also decreasing a bit, as his condition seemed to keep getting worse. Was the tourniquet not tight enough after all? They had a long stretch of empty and straight road ahead, so Erick wagered a bit of a longer look, finally noticing the second pool of blood gathering underneath the passenger's seat.

"F-Fetch? Fetch! Are you bleeding anywhere else?!"

"What?" Fetch replied, seeming to have trouble focusing, "Of cours'not. I'd know if I was...bleeding anywhere else."

"J-just stay awake, please, I-I don't know what to do!" Erick said, "how far out are we? Where are we going? Fetch? Fetch?!"

He promptly slammed the brakes as Fetch didn't reply, the engine nearly stalling until he remembered to switch gears, before pulling over and bringing the van to a full stop. It seemed Fetch had passed out, and he didn't have a lot of time to figure out what to do next. He quickly grabbed Fetch's phone, the screen thankfully covered in bloody fingerprints to help him figure out his passcode, especially as the prints got vaguer after each input.

"No way it's that easy," Erick mumbled, trying the combination 1-2-3-4.

"Okay, fuck, it was that easy," Erick sighed, shaking his head as he opened the contacts app and swiped to the 'recents' tab. All numbers were unlisted, but the one at the top started with 702, the area code for Las Vegas. It had to be Tito's number, or at least the fastest way to reach him. He quickly pressed 'call' and held the phone to his ear as he listened to it ring.

"Ah, Fetcher, that was quick. I thought you said you were further away?"

"Mr Rana!" Erick said, "i-it's me, actually. Fetch passed out and I don't know where to go!"

"Oh dear, oh you poor boy," Tito said, "if I give you the address, do you think you can find it on your own?"

"Y-yeah, I think so, thank you," Erick said, "please hurry, I think he's lost too much blood."

"Just breathe, Erick. I'll have Jonas text you the address right away," Tito said, "I'm putting you on speaker, can you put me on speaker too so you can call and drive at the same time?"

"R-right, okay," Erick said, lowering the phone and finding the speaker button. He turned the volume all the way up and kept the phone in his lap as he started the van again when the text already came though.

"When you open the link Jonas sent you, it should automatically show you where you are and how far away you are from the destination, okay?" Tito said.

"Yeah, yeah, I know how Maps works," Erick said, "um...looks like I'm ten minutes out. I-it's just down the road."

"Very good," Tito said, "now watch your speed. Ten minutes should be just fine."

"There's a cemetary only six minutes down the other way, sir."

"Jonas... Ignore him, Erick. Just keep going like you were before."

Erick was already ignoring Jonas, the sound of his voice sending chills down his spine otherwise. He also didn't quite watch his speed. What were the odds of police catching him these last ten minutes? Fetch would run out of time if he didn't hurry, and honestly he couldn't even begin to imagine what to do if he died here today.

He blinked the tears out of his eyes, glancing down at the map to make sure the next turn coming up was his. He slowed down a bit too late, nearly spinning out as he turned onto the dirt road, but he managed to get the van straight again. His destination would come up in about two minutes, but he had no idea what to look for.

"Mr Rana, what am I looking for?" he asked, wincing a bit at how teary he sounded.

"Our associates should have a plain truck, like a small moving truck," Jonas answered, "it'll probably be hidden from the road behind a building. If you can't locate it just honk the horn and they'll show themselves."

"O-okay, okay," Erick said breathlessly, eyes darting to either side of the road to look for anything that could hide a small truck.

The phone beeped that he had reached his destination, and all there was was a large barn. Erick slammed the brakes again, pulling up in front of the barn and just started honking.

The barn doors swung open, revealing the small truck parked inside, and Erick was too relieved that they'd made it to care about the two men approaching the van with guns. He just stopped honking and showed his hands, showed he was unarmed. He wanted to ask Tito for advice, but when he looked down at the phone he saw the call had ended. Great.

One of the men ordered him to get out of the van, making him stand with his hands on the hood, while the other one dragged Fetch out of the passenger's seat and towards the barn. Erick was searched for any weapons, before being allowed to relax.

"Sorry about that, can't be too careful these days," the man said.

Erick wasn't sure what to reply, he felt like throwing up, or collapsing, or anything, but he couldn't really move.

"Okay, why don't you go inside and help yourself to some water?" the man said, "I'll park the van behind the barn. Go on."

Erick managed to nod, slowly heading inside the barn. He was probably going to get shit for not cleaning the van right away like he promised he would...if Fetch would even survive to give him any.

shoutout to @momagie-blog for helping me come up with the plot for this prompt. I was a little lost in the sauce and she helped me simplify it~

Open end, ftw!

Jonas and Tito are side characters in Villain's View.

Masterlist Main account

[ghost-whump]

For the Spotify Wrapped ask game - 16! <3

For @writereleaserepeat’s Whumpify Wrapped askgame!

#16. Standing in the Rain - Billy Talent

CW: sexual harassment, past teacher/student relationship, manipulation, mistreatment of sex workers, transphobia-adjacent?, victim blaming, depression, implied drug use, let me know if i’m missing anything!

It started so small.

So small.

Staying after class on Fridays, not to be tutored, just to talk. I think you’re interesting, kid.

Exchanging dark polaroids of questionable taste just not to fail. You trust me with this, don’t you?

Kneeling under a desk while the older man graded homework all the other students did. A+ job down there, kid.

Maybe that’s what started it. All meticulously designed to lead down this path. Just because some science teacher thought he was cute.

Not all of it was bad. Dr. Whumper was kind of hot anyway. And it definitely could have been worse. He could have forced it on him. He could have blackmailed him. Dr. Whumper could have hit and abused him. But he didn’t.

It was Whumpee who came to him. It was Whumpee who offered the arrangement in the first place. It may have been Dr. Whumper who buttered him up and carefully wooed him, but Whumpee could have stopped it.

Casual hookups with Dr. Whumper turned quickly into a scandal in their small town. Empty beer cans lobbed off the back of pick-ups, rocks chipped off sidewalks, and anything else teenage boys could find became a permanent obstacle to be dodged. Pinned against brick walls, TEACHER’S PET WHORE scribbled on his forehead by teenagers he’d never met.

Girls ignored him, boys tormented him, parents hates him, and teachers punished him.

Then one day, the morning after his mother screamed at him for nearly the whole night, he ran away.

January 13th, 1983. The day it ended. His new birthday as well, he’d soon decided.

It was hard for a 15-year-old to survive on his own—he’d known that from the start. But it was laughably easy how many men offered to drive him a few miles in exchange for a quick “payment,” as many liked to call it.

The big city was easier. A new name and casual confidence among the locals became a necessity if he didn’t want to get caught. Sex sold less there, and somehow more at the same time. He could sidle up on anyone and drag them in, but many brushed him off. Typical street-walker, one had called him.

He made his debut in the alleyways and backstreets, mingling with the local prostitutes and semi-frequent addicts. They taught him how to pick up Johns like a pro, always get paid, and never get caught. Invaluable knowledge it seemed, in the line of worked he found himself in.

Dirty needles and tight, red skirts lined his new path. Lost in the high of heroin, LSD, or anything else he could find, things got easy. Yet none of his friends— his new family —understood. Even the older workers looked down at him with pity.

Some let him sleep on their couches, helped him forage, showed him children’s hostels, but it never stayed for long. He’d return to the streets eventually.

Time passed quicker by the day. Soon a few months turned to a year and still, no one had come looking for him. He looked somewhat believably 18 now, a large selling point for him at least.

Old enough to be legal, young enough to be fun.

Then he turned 18 for real a while later. Not much changed. He’d donned a mask of innocence for so many years, it never really wore off. Playing on the bimbo-esque naïvety of his looks reeled in yet more and more clients, he’d never changed the game.

But soon that stopped working. Once he’d started growing hair in strange places and his eyes hollowed of their shine, it didn’t work. A rube, a fake, an act— it wore off.

Bruised feet forced into too-small heels click-click-clicked down the sidewalk, he’d lean over into big cars and bat his lashes. A little man inside, usually some big-shot business man faker than he was, would greet him. Some yelled at him to get in, others were respectful and asked his prices. None saw him as more than an object.

As the years drew on, he’d dread the hum of an engine slowing as it passed. Their eyes would twinkle as they caught him, ensnared him like a fish on a hook, and even though he hated it… at least they still wanted him.

He guessed he did too.

A/N: woah i didn’t expect to write this much!!! i just got carried away and kept going lmao. thanks so much for the ask, i really enjoyed writing this <3

General Tag: @morning-star-whump