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[whumplump]

Frost Flowers

"You tried to escape again?"

"I gave you a name, an identity. Would it be so hard to follow my orders?"

"You treat me like I'm a dog. I'm a human with my own mind, I don't want to follow your sick and twisted fantasy."

"Even though it makes your life easier? I decide what you eat, what you wear, how you behave. You don't need to think about a thing, shouldn't you be grateful?"

"And be like some dumb puppy for you?"

"A very loved dumb puppy."

"If only you would just...give in."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing much, just a few drops of ___ to make you soft and pliant, Lilith."

~

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @jennyyy007 @theforeverdyingperson @valravnthefrenchie @risk606 @heyyitsworld @failgiao @electrons2006 @possumhoe

[whumplump]

Half Deep Slumber

“I’ve seen you. In your worst, through your little bedroom window. Sometimes, you would cry from loneliness. Perhaps. But that’s weird. I’ve always been with you. 

Always.

Could you not see it? Is it my fault that you have always been the slowest one?

“Please…let me go…”

You pleaded, so sweetly. Your voice got hoarse from screaming, hoping that someone would hear that soft, high-pitched voice I’m secretly obsessed with.

Do you remember? That moment?

You were just about to go to bed, fluffing up your pillow with that delicate pair of hands. And that’s when I made myself known - my hand, around your ankle, pulling you close to the edge of the bed.

You shrieked and it just made my grip tightened around your skin. Because God, you looked almost pathetic flailing your arms like that.

“Let’s go home, pretty thing.”

I threw you over my shoulder with ease, noticing how you were too scared to move or fight. 

But I treated you gently, didn’t I?

Like you were a porcelain.

I didn’t grab or squeeze you hard.

“You are soft. All mine.”

“Take a deep breath, mkay?”

~

I can't escape now. Writing keeps me grounded :)

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @jennyyy007 @theforeverdyingperson @valravnthefrenchie @risk606 @heyyitsworld @failgiao @electrons2006 @possumhoe

[whumplump]

I've stopped updating the masterlist a whole while ago.

which isn't much, considering that I haven't been writing much lately.

[whumplump]

Since today is my birthday, have a part 2. Should I extend this story even more?

Lonely II

Part 1

Whumpee stood in front of the trash can, hand in front of them, eyes swollen and heavy from all the tears they'd shed. They put their foot on the lever. The trash can lid swung open. There wasn’t much left in the kitchen waste, other than the leftovers of food that Whumpee had promised themselves they would eat, but they always left them in the fridge until they went bad. Without realizing it, they used that as an excuse. But they didn’t miss the effect that meals could have on their body. At least, not when they could fool themselves. They clenched their fist, crumpling the cupcake wrapper in their hand. The vanilla sugar frosting should have been digesting and dissolving in their stomach acid right now. Whumpee shouldn’t have eaten that. Not because of the calories, but because of the meaning. Treating themselves to a sweet treat was as childish as getting a lollipop after a vaccination.

They threw the crumpled paper in the trash and left the kitchen, walking wearily to the hallway. They leaned their hands on the wall as encouragement and entered the bathroom. They collapsed on the sink. There, indeed, they could cry as if in a place suited for regret. Where people regretted their mistakes, but had no remorse. Whumpee turned on the faucet, filled their hands with water and washed their face. Maybe, if the tears mixed with the cold water, they would no longer notice them. They left the room without drying their face. Contrary to what they had hoped, the attempt did not help their feelings. They staggered to the bed and sat down. Oh, what a beautiful day it could be. There were so many bad memories of past birthdays, and reality checks that everyone deserved to hear. That was not a special day. It was not a privilege, a commemorative date. It was the reaffirmation of the day when yet another burden had been placed on the world. On a family, on dozens of people.

Whumpee was about to get up when they felt a vibration behind them. Their cell phone rang briefly with a notification. Whumpee reached out to pick it up. They ran their hand over their teary eyes as the light from the device's screen irritated their sensitive lenses. Reading the message on the notification bar, Whumpee let a cold smile grace their face.

The digital bank app announced: "Happy birthday! We have some news for you. Come check it out!"

At least something, even if artificial, had remembered it.

[whumplump]

Broken

Whumpee woke to the sound of the bed creaking. It was their own foot, restless, moving on the edge of the bed as if it had a mind of its own. Beside them, Caretaker was still asleep. Outside the house, the rain pounded on the roof, as if it were penetrating the slab and hitting the flashing directly. The constant tapping of the drops was nerve-wracking. It seemed as if the roof might give way at any moment and let the rain flood into the house. Whumpee pushed their arms away from Caretaker and sat up in bed. They had asked, no, begged, to sleep next to their friend. The anxiety caused by the rain was impossible to contain on their own. Across the room was a dresser, displaying three half-open drawers. Caretaker never closed the drawers all the way. Whumpee didn't know if it was because they were too sloppy, or if the wood was somehow flawed and made it impossible to lock. Whumpee got up and walked over to the dresser. On the furniture, an open Bible, a bottle of perfume, the keys to the car and the house, and framed photos. Whumpee spent a few seconds staring at the pictures. The image of them and Caretaker. Sometimes smiling, sometimes angry, but because of pranks, not misunderstandings. Good times.

Good, before they disappeared. Wonderful, before they fell and the consequences of their suffering. When Whumpee still smiled at the people they loved. When they were still willing to welcome them, to love them. Caretaker was the only one left. They were still the same. But it wasn't enough. Because Whumpee, in turn, was not. Everything was beautiful before Whumper came along and took all the light from Whumpee's eyes, all the empathy from their heart. All the warmth from their body and the beauty from their soul. Whumper made them into a worthless porcelain pot, carelessly handled as if they weren't fragile. To be thrown to the ground, picked up and thrown in the trash. Picked up by the garbage man who would come by the next day. Sent to a dump with thousands of other pieces like them, but always with the memory of the one who broke and discarded them. Whumpee was nothing more than that. A piece of waste.

They looked at the Bible. The object had been in the same position for years, ever since it was first placed on the dresser, giving the open pages a yellowish color. Old and constant. Like Whumpee. But a Bible cannot be broken. It can be torn, twisted, burned. Just like Whumpee had been before they were discarded. The portraits, the photos. They can be broken. What good were sacred words, in the midst of so much misfortune that was not prevented by the mercy of a deity?

Whumpee looked at their hands. To them, the lines on their palms were cracks. If they clenched their fists, the porcelain pot would give way and break. As if a message had been sent to the garbage man, Whumpee had been returned to Caretaker's house. They had arrived broken. They had been mended. Scars on their body and stains on their soul, like hot glue that restores an object. But they were a broken object nonetheless. They picked up the Bible and drew a line forward, knocking the frames over. Caretaker woke to the sound of smaller wood against the wood of the floor. They sat up in bed. Whumpee, their back to them.

“Whumpee? Is everything okay?" they asked, their voice exasperated with fright.

Whumpee didn't answer. They turned slowly, their arms in the air. They released the grip on their fingers and let the Bible fall to the floor with a heavy thud. Caretaker got up from the bed and walked over to their friend, leaning closer and placing their hands on Whumpee’s shoulders.

“Did you knock down the pictures? Why did you do that?"

Again, there was no answer. Whumpee rested their head on their friend's chest. For a moment, they felt fixed. The happy portraits were now broken, just like them.

Whumper should be out there in one piece, breaking other pots and throwing them in the trash.

The garbage man would come by tomorrow to collect them.

[whumplump]

Something something about caretaker cooking an egg and realizing how much force it takes to crack just the thin shell. Someone finds them on the floor shaking in grief and rage; it makes Caretaker’s chest boil, thinking about Whumpee in the hospital, hooked in tubes and head wrapped in bandages; thinking how much violence it takes for someone to crack another’s skull.

[whumplump]

Lonely

Whumpee pulled the chair with their feet, since their hands were busy. It was already difficult to find their way around the kitchen with the lights off, the only source of illumination being the weak flame that adorned the candle. They sat down and placed the cupcake in front of them, in the center of the table. The humble treat was the most that Whumpee allowed themselves for that date, not only because they didn't have the money, but because they weren't special enough to buy a whole cake that, besides, they knew they wouldn't be able to eat all of it.

Whumpee clasped their hands in their lap and watched the slight flicker of the candle flame in silence, for a long time. A very long time. The only sound in the whole house was that of the refrigerator plugged in to perform its cooling function. There was no human sound. There was nothing in Whumpee's head.

After several minutes, as if coming out of a trance, their voice announced:

"Well, happy birthday to me."

Whumpee returned to silence. Unlike the cheap candle, which didn’t display their age number, the Whumpee had no ongoing purpose, such as producing heat and light and sputtering according to their intensity. Whumpee was a flameless candle. Without a lighter or a match to help them light, without something or someone to direct them to their purpose.

They picked up the cupcake from the table and, only after spending a few more seconds staring at the colorful sprinkles selfishly scattered across the frosting, did they blow out the candle.

They returned the delicacy to the table and once again fell into a grim silence, at least in their throat. They clapped a few times, just touching the fingertips of one hand to the palm of the other, trying to produce a sound that, hopefully, could bring joy typical of a birthday to that moment. However, no twinge of joy emerged. Whumpee knew that no one else in the world, who was alive, knew that that day was that date. No one in the world heard them. No one in the world cared about them. Something they had always known, but hated when it was in evidence. They were alone.

They wiped the escaping tears with the back of their hand. They couldn't ruin the birthday. They couldn't embarrass themselves any more. They were sure that there were people in the world who would kill to have that moment they were having, even though it was so humble and insignificant. Many had nothing. Whumpee was ungrateful.

They held the cupcake again and directed the frosting to their mouth. They savored the taste of the sugar lightly accentuated in vanilla, with the aftertaste of the salty tears that insisted on running down their face.

It wasn't a happy birthday.

[whumplump]

Cws: Non con touching, creepy/intimate whumper, winged whumpee, captive whumpee.

Their wings are beautiful-

Whumpee is chained to the floor, on their knees, with a short chain keeping their wrists bound to a bolt. Their wings drape around them, shimmering feathers spread out over the concrete.

Their gaze is downcast, and they tense as the cell door opens- whumper steps in and lowers himself in front of them.

“Hello little birdie, you’re looking lovely today.”

They don’t speak. So whumper frowns and steps behind them. They flinch as they feel a hand on their wing. Stroking through feathers, gentle and steady. The feeling makes their stomach turn- no one should touch their wings, not without their trust. Especially not their captor… who’s already done so much to them.

But they know what happens if they protest. It’s much worse than a little discomfort. So they stay still, breathing steady.

Whumpers hand continued through their feathers, his fingers deftly gliding between quills. Sending shivers up whumpees back.

Their wings are beautiful.

[whumplump]

Heyy a writing request! How about a whumpee that wakes up on the side of a road and someone finds them (that someone can be whumper or just a stranger your choice :D)

Whumpee was shivering violently when they woke up. Had Whumper taken their blankets again? The rock of a mattress they lay on seemed more firm and cold than before and Whumpee moaned, reaching for the covers just in case they were kicked off the bed somewhere.

Whumpee’s hand wound through something wet and stringy and their eyes flew open.

They weren’t in the room.

They weren’t in their cell that they had called home for who knows how long? Whumpee shot awake, eyes wild and frantic. The darkness surrounded them and took a while for their eyes to adjust as they scrambled back on grass.

The memory came flooding back then and Whumpee stilled. They… they had escaped Whumper, they made a break for it and they ran and ran and ran, and ran some more and… they must have lay down to rest for a while or passed out or something. But they ran! They hoped they were far enough away now to be safe. They didn’t even remember the direction they were running from, they just kept running.

Whumpee wrapped their arms around themselves and shakily got to their feet. Their teeth were chattering uncontrollably, the sound grating a headache that was scraping itself around the edge’s of Whumpee’s skull.

They were still out.

They had broken out of Whumper’s home.

They had escaped Whumper…

That thought warmed their chest and Whumpee… for the first time in a long time, Whumpee smiled to themselves and laughed like a madman into the night air.

Okay, first things first, find a road and then follow it to civilisation. Whumpee could do that. They could do that. They could wave down a car with the sound of their chattering teeth it was so fucking loud.

They laughed to themselves again. Jesus, when was the last time they laughed?

They found the road pretty quickly, it was a miles walk away and then followed it along, walking hopefully in the direction away from Whumper. It was hard to tell in the dark where they were, but they were… they were outside. They were free.

Holy fuck… they were free.

They were freezing; the socks on their feet soaked through and their feet more like two frozen, cement blocks attached to their legs but they were moving and they were away from Whumper, and…

oh god, was Whumper…

They stopped dead in their tracks.

What if the next car that drove by them was Whumper, looking for them? What if Whumpee accidentally flags them down and Whumper opens the door and tells them to get in, god, no. They couldn’t go back.

They couldn’t go back.

Fuck, fuck, they couldn’t catch their breath, it eluded them and they thought it was better to go towards the light. Go into the light. Whumper wouldn’t be in—

A honk of a car horn and the sound of brakes squealing and Whumpee turned away, their hands over their head as a car swerved around them. Whumpee flinched, eyes wild as they turned and looked into the car, but there was nobody inside.

“What the FUCK were you doing?!” A harsh voice demanded furiously. Whumpee backed up as a man approached them, they shook their head, hands flying up in front of them to make the stranger stay back.

“No, no, no, I’m sorry, please!”

“You’re in the middle of the fucking road!” The man bellowed. “What do you mean you’re sorry, I could have hit you! I could have killed you, you fucking—”

The man stopped when Whumpee whimpered. The man’s quiet was worse than when he was giving out to Whumpee. “Hey… sorry, um, sorry for shouting, you scared me is all. I was…”

“I’m sorry sir…”

“No, hey, no. Listen, I— sorry. You uh—” Whumpee looked over at the man. “You have no fucking shoes on. What the fuck? It’s almost freezing and you’re playing Tarzan in the fucking woods? Get in the car.”

Whumpee froze. “What?”

“Get in my car. It’s freezing! You need to warm up or you’ll get pneumonia or something.”

“No, uh, thanks.” Whumpee said, hard to get words out their mouth was chattering so uncontrollably. “I’m— I’m—”

“Look, you’re not okay. We both know that. Don’t insult my intelligence by saying otherwise either. I’ll give you a lift into town, and maybe some socks. That’s all I’m offering. You’ll die before you reach the nearest town walking.”

Whumpee stared at Caretaker. Something like realisation flashed across Caretaker’s face, though it was hard to see in the dark, Whumpee could feel the shift.

“Oh. Right. I’m uh, like… I’m not a serial killer or anything.” He laughed then turned, his hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing at the skin. “Although that’s probably what a serial killer would say.”

Whumpee let out a breath of a laugh. “Most people would say I’m not a murderer, how many people you killed?”

Caretaker’s head snapped up. “No! No, I didn’t, I haven’t— ahahah, I’m not a murderer either, my hands are clean! Look.”

Whumpee felt their fear leave their body as they laughed again. God they felt so light when they laughed. It had been so long since he did so freely.

“Okay. I’ll take the lift.”

Caretaker smiled. A flash of teeth. “Great. Come on, I’m fucking freezing.”

Whumpee followed him to the car and climbed in the passenger side. He was right. The car was warm. When Caretaker climbed in and shut his door he blasted the heat on Whumpee’s face, body and feet. Whumpee melted into the warm leather like goo.

“Oh yeah. Heated seats are nice, huh?” Caretaker asked as he moved the gear stick and reversed before the car pulled off down the road again and they were driving.

“Really nice,” Whumpee hummed, watching the blackness of trees melt into one constant loop as they drove.

After a while Whumpee could feel a question buried beneath Caretaker’s tongue brewing. Maybe because he glanced at Whumpee every so often, catching Whumpee’s attention from the corner of their eye. Maybe it was because his fingers drummed a beat against the steering wheel.

Eventually, Caretaker plucked up the courage and asked: “Can I ask why you were out here on your own? With no shoes? And looking five minutes away from death?”

Whumpee swallowed, and it seemed like the warmth was sapped from their body. The thought of mentioning Whumper sent a shiver down their spine despite the heat, and they debated whether or not they should tell Caretaker.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Whumpee said, their voice quiet.

A pause. “Okay.”

A beat. “It’s just that it’s dangerous to be outside in this weather. And alone in the woods? You’d never know who you’d run into. There’s dangerous people out here,” Caretaker said.

I know, Whumpee thought, but didn’t say. Whumpee shrugged.

Caretaker shaked their head. “You’re lucky I found you,” Caretaker said with a little laugh. “I mean, I wouldn’t even be out here usually. I guess it’s fate that I happened upon you. I’m Caretaker by the way.”

“Whumpee,” Whumpee replied.

Caretaker smiled. “Nice to meet you Whumpee. Are you warm enough?”

“Yeah,” Whumpee said with a smile. They were warm now, and toasty.

“Thank god,” Caretaker said and turned down the heat. “Sorry, I run hot,” he said by way of apology.

Whumpee laughed. “You should have told me.”

“I had to thaw you out first. Don’t want you dying on me in the passenger seat.”

He kept glancing ag Whumpee from the corner of his eye. “Hey, you look— well, like shit, but exhausted. Just relax and try to get some rest. I’ll let you know when we’re in town and we can bring you to the police station or something, okay?”

Whumpee hummed their answer. They didn’t know if it was a yeah or no, because the mixture of the heat and the hum of the car lulled Whumpee into a heavy, deep sleep.

They woke when the car turned into a driveway, slowing down as it went, the bumps jostling Whumpee’s head and they opened their eyes, blinking awake.

“Ah, sorry for the road,” Caretaker said with a little laugh as they continued down a tree lined road. “I just have to stop off at a friend’s before we go to the town, if that’s okay? It’s uh… kinda the whole reason I’m out this way at all.”

“Yeah, no,” Whumpee said nodding and stretching as they sat up properly. “That’s fine.”

“Thanks, my friend isn’t exactly known for being patient.”

Whumpee laughed, thinking of friend. “We all have some friends like that. It’s all good.”

Caretaker laughed too, his shoulders relaxing a bit as they took the last turn into a drive. “Yeah. I guess we do.”

Only when the house came into view did Whumpee stiffen in their seat. They were… that was… fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Was Caretaker— were they? Oh god, Whumpee got in the car willingly, like an idiot.

Whumper is impatient. Whumpee knew that.

“You— you—” Whumpee stammered. Caretaker smiled over at Whumpee but his eyes immediately widened, suddenly concerned.

“Hey, Whumpee. It’s okay! It’s— this is just my friend’s house.”

“I— you… Whumper—”

“Whumper?” Caretaker asked, a furrow forming between his brows. “How do you know Whumper’s name?”

“I have to— you—” Whumpee stuttered, hands flailing as they reached for the handle of the door. The car was locked. Oh god. Oh fuck. “Please, please, don’t send me back there. I’ll be good. I promise! I promise!”

Whumpee yanked on the handle over and over. “Please!” They wailed, tears streaming down their cheeks. “Please, fuck… I only— I just—”

The car stopped suddenly. Caretaker’s foot slammed on the brake and the two of them lurched forwards. Whumpee gasped as they were flung back against the seat.

Caretaker turned their body to face Whumpee. “Whumpee! Look at me! Look at me, now!”

Whumpee flinched at the harsh tone but obeyed. Caretaker’s eyes were still wide with concern but now something else lingered behind that concern, something horrified and confused.

“Are you… are you saying you look like death because of Whumper?”

Whumpee shook in the heated seat beside Caretaker. If they said yes, what would Caretaker do? Bring them back, drag them by the hair? What if Whumper wasn’t bothered to go out and look for them so he called his friend to pick Whumpee up on the way?

A knock on the window and the pair jumped. Caretaker turned, swallowed and rolled the window down a fraction.

“Hey,” a smiling voice greeted them. Whumpee froze in their seat. That was… Whumper, oh god. He was here. It was only a matter of time before he saw and when he did— “I saw the lights but then you stopped up here, just came to make sure you didn’t have a puncture or anything.”

“No,” Caretaker said quickly. “Sorry, thought I saw a deer. You never know out here.”

Whumper laughed. Whumpee swallowed a whimper. “Yeah. You’re right. Okay then, see you back at the house. It’s freezing out. I’ll leave the door open, just let yourself in.”

Caretaker didn’t hesitate. He kept up his friendly demeanour as he spoke to Whumper like they were old friends, which they were, Whumpee had to remind themselves.

“Yeah, of course. Go. It’s supposed to go below zero today, so get inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Cool,” Whumper said and tapped the car twice before his footsteps disappeared into the darkness. Caretaker didn’t roll up the window until he was sure Whumper was gone.

The pair of them sat like icicles, too afraid to move and break the weighted silence around them. Eventually, Caretaker snapped out of it and rolled the window up. Then he straightened.

“Did Whumper hurt you?”

Whumpee was silent.

“You can tell me, Whumpee. If he hurt you we are backing out of this driveway right now and I am calling the police.”

Whumpee sniffled. Caretaker audibly swallowed. “Okay,” he said with a breath that reflected in the car. “Okay.”

Caretaker nodded. Then he grabbed the gear stick and put the car into reverse. Whumpee’s cried got louder and more strangled as the house disappeared from view again, and the realisation settled heavy in their chest.

They were actually escaping.

They did it.

They escaped from Whumper, and now Caretaker, Whumper’s friend, was about to call the police to help Whumpee. Ready to throw their years of friendship away for Whumpee.

“Thank you,” Whumpee weeped. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” they blubbered. With every expression of gratitude they felt the weight of relief crush them further and further into the seat.

“It’s okay,” Caretaker said. “You’re okay. You’re safe now, Whumpee. Whumper won’t hurt you again.”

Whumpee continued to cry as they pulled out onto the main road, until the heat blasted again, and Caretaker told them to go to sleep. Whumpee obeyed, for the first time in a long time, they went to sleep with a smile on their face, warm and safe.

[whumplump]

I'm sure I'm not the first to think of this, but

Whumpee who's afraid of men.

When she's first found by the team, weak and beaten, they already expected her to look fearful and panicked.

What they didn't expect, was that she would only consider comply in being rescued, once all the male teammates were out of her sight.

Her fear becomes clearer to the Team while she's recovering. She panics at the mere sight of a man. It stands to reason that she cannot be cared for by male caregivers either.

This case becomes especially difficult if the Team has few female members, including the Leader.

Anything you may want to add?

[whumplump]

I want to make a request to my fav author

Hehe

|| male whumper who uses whumpee as a stress reliever

Thank you very much for the ask, and sorry for the delay in responding to it.

CW: sadistic whumper, defiant whumpee

"Are you just going to stand there with that wet dog face?"

Whumpee lifted their head, and their expression immediately darkened. They bit back the rude retort they wanted to give, but answered.

"I don't know. And you, are you just going to sit there like a spoiled dog?"

Almost instantly at the provocation, Whumper adjusted his posture in the chair to a more formal expression, back straight, legs crossed. He rested his arm on the side and held out his hand.

"Come here."

Whumpee obeyed. They walked over to their master and took his hand.

"You know, Whumpee. You really drive me crazy."

He began to squeeze his captive's hand, at first just holding it firmly. Gradually increasing the force. Whumpee remained impassive.

“And you also know, I have high blood pressure problems… I can't stress myself out too much..."

"You bet I do," Whumpee challenged with a smile on their face.

Their audacity immediately disappeared as Whumper considerably increased the strength with which he held their hand. Whumpee brought their other hand to the wrist restrained by the grip, their face contorted in pain.

“You’re so ungrateful,” Whumper continued. “I want to break you into a thousand pieces, but if I can’t handle one of you, how can I handle a thousand?”

Whumpee dug their nails into their arm, letting out the pain they were feeling. Whumper continued to squeeze their hand, tightening and loosening the grip, throbbing like a stress-relief toy.

“But there’s one thing, Whumpee, that always calms me down…”

He abruptly let go of the captive’s hand. Whumpee staggered back, clutching their injured hand. The skin had turned red and scarred.

Whumper rose from the chair, displaying his intimidation for the insolent prisoner.

“It’s you. Strip.”

"I bet you're not man enough to even do well in that department," Whumpee hurled as a final insult.

Whumper laughed, and began walking toward the cornered captive, reaffirming his seriousness.

"We'll see about that."

[whumplump]

Whump idea :

Caretaker kissing whumpee's scars

Thank you so much for the ask, sorry for the delay in responding it though.

CW: scars, comfort, former living weapon whumpee

Caretaker carefully removed the bandage from Whumpee's palm to check the healing process. The wounds had already healed and had acquired a color similar to Whumpee's skin.

The caregiver slid the sleeve of the former weapon down, revealing a series of older scars. Some were made by conflicts and battles, others by Whumpee themselves as a form of punishment for their failures.

Caretaker smiled. Whumpee did not.

Caretaker held their arm and brought their lips to the dry, calloused skin.

"You are very strong," they said. "Those scars are medals for everything you have survived. You should be proud."

“I feel no pride, only pain."

Caretaker's smile slowly faded, but they continued to place soft kisses on Whumpee's skin. Perhaps, with enough love — and some healing ointments — those marks that were so bothersome would disappear?

[whumplump]

What does feeling good cost?

CW: vague, nonspecific mention of a mental illness and its medications for treatment, mention of past mental breakdown.

Caretaker didn't need to turn the key to open the gate. They just put their hand on the doorknob, and without any effort, the barrier gave way. Whumpee must have forgotten to lock the gate, as they had asked.

They went up the stairs from the backyard to the house. Whumpee was vacuuming the floor, compulsively in the same places. She held the cord of the appliance with her other hand, moving it out of the way when she needed to sweep it across the floor.

Caretaker approached.

"You didn't have to clean today."

Whumpee didn't look at her colleague.

"For what? So you can find dirt where there isn't any, and then start scrubbing the floor like a madman?"

"You're the one who does this..." Caretaker muttered.

They left their bag on the couch, and went to the bathroom. After they passed, Whumpee ran the vacuum cleaner over her companion's trail.

Ever since Whumpee had started the medication program, she had been different. For better, there were no more crying fits and periods of isolation. For worse, there were no more jokes and cheerful comments that she always made. She wasn't depressed, but she wasn't happy either. She was... neutral. For the first few weeks, Caretaker preferred to believe that this was for the best, after all, they would rather her feel nothing than feel like crap. However, Whumpee had a different opinion. She would rather feel anything, even pain, than feel nothing.

Caretaker returned to the living room in time to see Whumpee wind the vacuum cleaner cord so tightly that it nearly broke.

“Take it easy,” they advised.

Whumpee ignored them.

She walked through the living room to get the mop from the porch. Caretaker decided to leave as well. They knew there was no point in arguing with their roommate when she was so… empty.

[whumplump]

got reluctant whumper.

I think that's strangely accurate to how I feel about myself

@i-eat-worlds

[whumplump]

oh hi, thank you very much for the gift.

I hope you have a wonderful day ♡

[whumplump]

One With The Blade — I

Here’s the first chapter of the series that I have been promising for months now. Sorry for the delay and also for the poor quality of the content ahead.

Please trust me to take this slow, the story will get more complex and it will make sense.

I'll try to update this series as fast as I can.

CW: ancient context, living weapon whumpee

June 9th 1889

The bell at the Meeting Point, formerly the church, chimed midnight. The citizens of the poor town were preparing to retire and end the day, but Caretaker was still standing and agitated. They ran from one side to the other inside the house, taking and gathering papers in different orders, from one place to another. Sometimes they would take the scriptures to the backyard and lift them into the air, trying to see the letters in the moonlight. It was possible to see what had been scribbled when held up.

The town doctor arrived at his house every day around pick-up time. Always nervous, dusting his own clothes, as his role was crucial in the health of the city and he feared getting sick more than anything; He was the only one to count on in the event of an epidemic. He passed through the gate and heard movement in the house next door. He could guess it was Caretaker wandering around again. He used the clothesline ladder to watch from the top of the wall, leaning on his elbows.

"Caretaker! Didn’t you hear the bell, it's curfew!” he said in a hushed tone, loud enough for Caretaker to hear, but not enough to draw the attention of neighbors.

However, the scrivener paid no attention. They began to scribble thoughts over the printed papers, connecting dots on a mental map. They went back into the house, and Medic immediately realized that Caretaker wasn't going to respond. He leaned against the wall for support and carefully fell into the confines of the other house. He passed through the yard and went inside. He stopped at the door to the living room and crossed his arms, watching Caretaker sitting at their desk, frantically typing on the typewriter.

“What do you write so much on those papers?"

Caretaker decided not to respond. For now, it would be better to keep secrets about certain things, about secular disputes.

"Have you ever seen these magic letters? They glow with electric light," said Caretaker, as if thinking of something else.

Medic approached the table. He looked at the flashing light bulb in the ceiling and figured his friend was referring to the reflection of electric light on typed letters.

Not only the careless lighting of an old lamp, but also several rolls of crumpled papers and equipment to compose the desk were part of Caretaker's work scene. The same work, which was already beginning to be devalued in the city. It began to be seen more as an obsession than as a means of income, after all, Caretaker spent more time scribbling on those papers and trying to read ancient symbols in fantasy tales, more than they did eating at their table or sleeping in their bed. Medic speculated that it could be some psychological problem, an irrational compulsion.

Caretaker slid a quill with ink across one of the papers and froze. Medic unconsciously imitated their expression. The scrivener leaned back in their chair and sighed.

"It has to have some meaning..."

Medic ran his hand over the papers on the table, discreetly pretending to be reading them when in fact he was separating them to the side. Not that it would be possible to make any sense from reading those scribbles, anyway.

Next to the papers was a manila envelope marked with a familiar, distinctive symbol. Medic held it in his hands and examined it. The edges of the paper looked burned, worn in some way other than age. Caretaker snapped out of their thoughts and snatched the envelope from their friend's hands. They placed it in a box beside the table, which was similarly cluttered as the more visible parcel. They said nothing, but their look told the doctor they were displeased with the intrusion.

Caretaker kicked the box under the table and crossed the room to the bedroom. Medic followed them. In truth, the room Caretaker slept in looked more like an extension of the living room. There was no door. The few sheets strategically folded on the floor to serve as a bed were the only thing that could give away that it was a sleeping space. The piles of books and papers scattered in the corners bore a resemblance to the scrivener’s workroom. Caretaker grabbed a coat from the mess and put it on. Medic stopped in the doorway with a distraught physiognomy.

"Where do you think you're going? I told you: it's curfew."

Caretaker pulled on a few more pieces of clothing and took a pair of shoes to the bed to sit down and put them on.

“I'm going to ascertain some information. If you keep your mouth shut, there won't be any problems for either of us.”

Medic banged on the doorframe in frustration. Caretaker pulled on their oversized pair of boots and walked past their friend, bumping into his shoulder. They gathered up and collected half a dozen papers from the scribbles on his desk and folded them. They put them in their coat pocket and headed for the exit. Medic ran across the room to catch up with his friend. Caretaker turned and at first looked like they were going to pay attention to the doctor, when in fact they just ran back to their typewriter and ripped out the paper that ruled the letters. Medic watched them in bewilderment.

“Go back to your house. Don't open the door for anyone," the scrivener said before leaving.

In the short streets following the house, weeds grew dangerously around the sidewalks and sometimes invaded the backyards of the residences. It was no wonder that Medic was often called to attend to complaints of spider or scorpion bites. In the suburbs, life was simpler from the rest of the city. Even for someone like Caretaker, who could read and write, there was isolation and discrimination if money was not plentiful. The neighborhood ended in an uninhabited street, behind the plateau that supported the houses, overlooking the river and the Meeting Point. The place where the old church stood. Around a marble statue of a lotus flower, the earth had been dug in circles so that the river water would envelop it in an orderly pattern. It was into this water that the poorest people threw their stolen or hard-earned coins so that some resilient deity would hear them. Or that rich people threw their metal waste into the water to pollute it. Nonsense.

Caretaker walked for about half an hour until they had descended the two kilometers that made up the plateau. They turned away from the direction in which the Meeting Point stood and entered a forest of low, sickly trees, eaten away by fungus and windblown dirt. They walked further down in silence, holding the paper in their hand. They stopped at a section cut by one of the tributaries of the river that supported the city. They bent down on the bank and touched the earth with one hand. With the other, they held the paper up to their face and examined the writing against the moonlight.

The paper displayed merely arranged topics in a straight line, and to the very clerk who had written them, they ceased to make sense. Since they did not have their quill in their possession, they rubbed some dirt over one of the topics to cross it out. They stood up.

Caretaker froze. A cold sensation on the back of their neck. At first they thought it was an insect, but the firmness of the specimen betrayed it as an object. They did not dare move. They turned in time to see the blade circle over their head and rest against their throat. In the darkness, two eyes stared at them, impassively, like a pair of ghosts. The clerk could not see the rest of the person's body, but, trusting their judgment, they knew that this was no ordinary peasant.

Whumpee used the blade of the sword to lift Caretaker's head and intensify the threat.

"Throw the papers in the river, scrivener.”

[whumplump]

once again sorry for not writing anything