#and whumpy

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

Obviously I need to ask you about your Coldflash Royalty AU <3

Yessss thank you!

I fear the placeholder title may be a bit misleading so allow me to clarify; Barry’s royalty (a prince), Len is not but his father was Captain of the royal guard (also, it is through writing this that I learned much of my ‘knowledge’ of royalty comes from Disney movies💀)

Shortly before the events of the story, the kingdom of Central is overthrown. No one knows how he managed to do it, the castle had been thought to be impenetrable to anyone not wanted… alas, Eobard Thawne invaded and killed the king and queen in their own throne room; sparing the prince.

Now, Leonard Snart has been invited to an event celebrating the new king’s victory. He attends, more to get a lay of the land if you will, but ends up getting much more than he bargained for.

Excerpt from chapter 1 (and disclaimer that everything is in flux because it’s still draft one)

Len strode over to the throne, loud enough as to alert the prince of his arrival. Forced to kneel beside the throne, he was dressed in clean, noble garments, and a golden band of metal had been affixed to his neck as well as shackles around his ankles, but he appeared to be unharmed. Still, Len highly doubted that. The outfit was just a bit too clean, covering a bit too much skin. He couldn’t jump to conclusions however. Len knelt down next to Barry, an effort to humiliate him just a bit less, perhaps. “Prince,” He said, in a tone slightly softer than his usual drawl.

Barry looked over at him, well, tried to. The golden collar was attached to a short length of chain bolted to the ground; restricting his movement heavily. “What do you want?” His voice was quite hoarse and had a slight crack to it, but still stronger than expected.

[dying-crying-pining]

no when i say intimacy i mean one of us is bleeding out and the other is putting their entire body weight behind their hands to stop it

[whump-bunny]

Goddammit now I have to watch Banana Fish.

God I love Whumpees that are indispensable. Whumpees that know they can never escape, not even through death, because Whumper would never let that happen.

I love Whumpers that meticulously ensure Whumpee is eating and sleeping enough. Whumpers that may or may not actually care about Whumpee personally, but will keep Whumpee alive and well no matter what. Whumpers who refuse to hurt Whumpee, so they hurt people close to them instead.

Whumpee is safe and cared for, but so very miserable.

[wolvndmouth]

Okay but this Logan and this Wade

And also this Logan and this Wade

As well as this Logan and this Wade

And then this Logan and this Wade

And then this Logan and this Wade

[comfortingcatharsis]

Alternating POVs wherein the missing- lost, captured, trapped- character is absolutely, desolately positive no one's coming to find or rescue them and hopelessly resigned to the fact; meanwhile the other characters are frantically searching for them with increasing desperation and unwavering determination, gone nearly mad with worry and hellbent on finding them.

[metukika]

day five: whump | separation

mogamiland inspired au.

[day one] [day two] [day three] [day four ] -- [day six] [day seven]

[hatsbuckets]

Ghoap, except it's Soap hauling Ghost.

This started as a small idea and spiraled, based on many people's recent need for Ghost to get taken care of by Soap. This is my midnight o'clock take. WC: longer than I meant to for one sitting, oops. Tw: Canon typical violence, probably some medical inaccuracies

Everything went to shit in seconds.

The C4 wasn’t supposed to blow yet. The plan was simple—sweep the compound, secure the intel, get out. But somehow, somewhere, Soap had fucked it up and the timing went off.

And now the entire fucking building was coming down around them.

Soap barely had time to turn before the blast hit.

A wall of heat and force slammed into him from behind, a deafening roar swallowing the world whole. His ears rang, vision whiting out as he was thrown forward, weightless for half a second before the ground came up to meet him—

Hard.

Everything spun. The sharp sting of concrete scraped against his arms, his ribs aching from the impact. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs weren’t working right, his head a mess of static.

A hand on his vest, gripping tight moved him. "On your feet, Johnny," a voice gritted out, rough and commanding.

Soap barely registered Ghost hauling him up, dragging him onto shaking legs just as another explosion ripped through the hallway behind them.

"Move!" Ghost barked, shoving Soap forward just as debris rained down where they’d been seconds ago.

Soap’s body acted on instinct, legs pumping despite the roaring in his skull. His head still rang like a church bell, but there was no time to think, no time to breathe—just run.

They bolted down the corridor, the walls trembling, the ceiling cracking apart. Smoke burned in Soap’s lungs, dust clogging the air as they weaved past fallen beams and crumbling debris. The sharp staccato of gunfire still echoed through the compound, but the screams had faded—either their team was already clear, or everyone else was dead.

The exit was up ahead. Not far.

Soap stumbled, boots slipping on the dust-coated floor. He felt himself tilting, his balance still fucked from the blast.

Ghost caught him. Again. A strong grip yanked him upright before he could hit the ground.

Soap barely had time to get his bearings before Ghost grabbed the back of his vest and shoved him forward, harder.

"Go, Johnny!"

Soap didn’t argue.

They burst through the exit just as another blast ripped through the structure, sending out a shockwave that nearly knocked them both off their feet. Heat licked at their backs, fire crawling up what was left of the building.

But they were out.

They kept running—across the open dirt lot, through the perimeter, straight into the dense treeline beyond. The night swallowed them whole, the branches tearing at their gear, the distant shouts of surviving hostiles echoing behind them.

They ran until their lungs burned, until the gunfire faded, until all that was left was the sound of their own ragged breathing.

They didn’t stop running.

Not when the gunfire faded behind them. Not when the compound’s burning wreckage was just a distant glow against the night sky, sending plumes of smoke curling into the stars. Not when their lungs burned, their legs screamed, and their bodies protested every step.

Because stopping wasn’t an option. Plan brunt to hell, there was no safe house waiting for them, no extraction team inbound, and no fuckin comms, Soap realized two kilometers ago. Just acres of land, endless trees, rocky hills, and God knows how much more ground to cover before they could even think about resting.

Soap’s boots thudded against the dirt, every step harder than the last. The terrain was uneven, riddled with loose stones and gnarled roots, but he forced his legs to move, to keep up with the silent force of nature ahead of him.

Ghost was still running, his stride unrelenting, his breath low and measured. He hadn’t said a word since they’d started moving, hadn’t glanced back once.

Soap barely noticed the signs at first.

The way Ghost’s steps were just a fraction too heavy. The way his shoulders were set too stiff, his posture tightening instead of loosening now that they had some distance. The way his breath was coming just a little too fast.

Then the run slowed into a jog, slowed into a trot, slowed into a walk.

The silence between them stretched, punctuated only by their footsteps and the rustling of the wind through the trees.

Soap flexed his fingers, trying to shake some life back into them. His whole body ached, exhaustion gnawing at the edges of his awareness. He was tired—dead tired—but something about the way Ghost was moving was off.

Soap turned his head, about to say something.

Ghost’s foot caught on a loose rock. His balance wavered.

Soap frowned, slowing. "Ghost—?"

Ghost didn’t answer. He swayed again. And then, just like that his knees buckled.

Soap lunged, catching him just as he collapsed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—" Soap gritted his teeth, stumbling under Ghost’s weight. Jesus, he was heavy.

For a terrifying second, Soap thought they were both going down, but he braced himself, digging his boots into the dirt as he lowered them both to the ground. Ghost’s full weight sagged against him, dead weight, his head tipping forward as his breath hitched unevenly.

Soap’s pulse spiked.

"Ghost—hey!" Soap shifted, gripping Ghost’s arms, shaking him. "Come on, Lt., look at me!"

Ghost made a sound, weak and breathy, but it wasn’t a real response. His fingers twitched like he wanted to grab onto something, but they slipped away, his body slumping further against Soap’s hold.

Soap’s chest squeezed tight. This was bad. Ghost hadn’t just run himself to exhaustion—he was crashing.

Soap’s hands moved on autopilot, yanking at the straps of Ghost’s vest, trying to get a look at the damage. His fingers shook, fumbling at the buckles. Got it open with a yank.

Ghost flinched violently, a harsh, guttural noise ripping from his throat as his whole body seized up.

Soap froze.

Ghost’s back arched off the ground, his hands twitching at his sides like he was trying to push away pain that wasn’t stopping.

Then, slowly—too slowly—he slumped back against the dirt, his breath shuddering out of him in uneven gasps.

Soap’s stomach twisted. "Shit—Ghost—"

Ghost’s breath hitched, his body trembling hard now.

Soap barely took a second to look—didn’t need to. His hands pressed down hard against Ghost’s ribs, against the wound that should’ve killed him half a forest ago.

And Ghost groaned. It was a soft, choked noise, barely a sound, but it was wrong. Ghost didn’t make noises like that.

Soap’s hands faltered.

"Jesus, mate…" His voice wavered, but his hands stayed firm. "You were running like this?"

Ghost let out something that was almost a chuckle, but it was too weak, too breathless to be anything real. "Didn’t notice," he murmured.

Soap gritted his teeth. "Yeah? That why you’re shakin’ like a leaf?" He pressed harder, ignoring the full-body flinch it pulled from Ghost. "What, were you just gonna stitch yourself up with barbed wire when you got somewhere safe?"

Ghost let out a weak, broken chuckle. "Only if I had to."

Soap swallowed hard, forcing his hands to stay steady.

"Yeah, well... stupid," he muttered, voice tight. "Hold still and let me fix you up before you bleed out in the middle of nowhere."

Ghost let out a slow, shaky exhale, his body flinching slightly inward as another wave of pain hit him. His hand grabbed Soap's wrist quick, tight.

"Johnny—"

Soap winced, his heart slamming against his ribs. "I know, I know, Si. Just—stay with me."

Ghost’s breath stuttered.

Then, softer, "'s fuckin' cold."

"That’s ‘cause you’re leakin’ all over the damn place, ya big baby." His voice was tight, trying for light but coming up short. "We fix that, yeah?"

Ghost didn’t respond.

Soap’s chest tightened. "Oi—Simon." His hands pressed harder, blood already coating his fingers. "Eyes on me."

A sharp, shaky inhale. Then Ghost’s head tipped just slightly, like it took everything in him to listen.

Soap’s throat felt like it was closing up. "Stay awake, Lt.," he murmured, voice low, steady. "You die on me, and I swear on my gran’s grave, I’ll bring you back just to kick your arse."

Ghost let out something between a huff and a pained laugh, barely there. "Noted," he whispered.

Soap worked faster, his hands moving, even though his mind was screaming at him. He silently thanked Price for forcing them all to attend the emergency field medicine training a few weeks ago.

By the time the wound was helped best it could be, by the time Ghost was bandaged up, pressing every ounce of warmth he could into him, Ghost was still breathing.

It was shaky, weaker, but steady.

Soap sat back, exhaling sharply. "Jesus," he muttered.

Ghost hummed low, barely awake. "Told you…"

Soap side-eyed him. "Told me what? That you’re a stubborn bastard?"

Ghost made a sound that might’ve been agreement. Or just exhaustion.

"Shoulda lightened tha' las' 'splosive."

Soap sighed, rubbing a bloody hand down his face. "You shoulda told me you were bleedin' out. You ever do this again," he muttered, voice quieter now, "and I swear to God—"

Ghost’s head tilted slightly toward him. "…You’ll what?"

Soap stared at him. At the barely-there smirk under the mask. At the way even now, even after all this, Ghost was still Ghost.

Soap shook his head.

"I dunno," he admitted. "Just don’t do it again, yeah?"

A pause. Then, so soft Soap almost didn’t hear it—

"Aye."

Soap swallowed hard. They still had a way to go.

...

Ghost was too heavy for Soap to carry outright, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

Soap gritted his teeth, hauling Ghost up as best he could, slinging one of Ghost’s arms over his shoulders and bracing a hand around his waist. Ghost was barely holding himself upright, his legs dragging more than walking, his breath a thin, uneven rasp in Soap’s ear.

Soap’s knees burned, his muscles screamed with every step, but stopping wasn’t an option. They had to get somewhere. Somewhere else. Anywhere. He tightened his grip, forcing them forward, half dragging, half lifting Ghost across the uneven ground.

"We’re almost there," Soap muttered, though he had no fucking clue if that was true. "Just stay with me, Lt."

Ghost made a low sound—somewhere between a grunt and a breathless chuckle. "Dunno if…you noticed, Johnny," he murmured, voice so faint that Soap barely heard him over the wind, "but I don’t 'ave much of a choice."

Soap huffed. "Aye, well. Just makin’ sure you don’t get any ideas about quittin’ on me."

Ghost exhaled sharply—not quite a laugh, but close.

Soap risked a glance at his comm, his hand fumbling at the radio clipped to his vest. He’d been checking for hours, but it was always the same. Static, nothing, silence.

His throat was dry. He tried anyway.

"Bravo 0-6, this is Soap, do you copy?" His own voice was raw, barely above a rasp, but steady. He was not going to let it shake, no matter how bad this was getting.

Ghost stumbled again, and Soap nearly went down with him.

"Shit—" He tightened his grip, adjusting his hold, all but hauling Ghost upright again.

Ghost let out a sharp, ragged breath, but didn’t complain.

Soap grimaced, pressing the comm again. "Price, this is Soap. Ghost is down. We are mobile, but barely. If anyone can hear me, I need—"

A burst of static.

Soap held his breath.

Then—

"Soap."

Soap staggered mid-step, his breath catching.

Price.

"Jesus fuckin’ Christ, finally—" Soap almost laughed, relief crashing through him so hard he felt weak. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself back into focus. "Ghost is hit bad, Cap. We’re a few clicks west of the facility, still moving, but he’s barely on his feet."

"I know. I’ve got you on GPS, went dark there for a bit in a valley." Price’s voice was steady, solid, the sound of it something Soap could hold onto. "You’re close, Soap. There’s an abandoned town just ahead—old mining site, should be about a click out. You make it there, and I’ll take care of the rest."

Soap exhaled hard, his grip tightening on Ghost.

"You hear that, Ghost?" he muttered, adjusting his hold. "We just gotta make it a little further. You with me?"

Ghost’s head lolled slightly, his masked face turned toward Soap.

"Not goin’ anywhere," he mumbled.

Soap let out a sharp breath, half a laugh. "Good. ‘Cause I didn’t fancy carrying your heavy arse the rest of the way."

Ghost didn’t answer.

Soap’s stomach twisted.

He risked another glance down, trying to assess—but the darkness made it impossible to see how bad it was. He could feel the warmth of Ghost against his side, could hear the way Ghost’s breathing was getting worse, thinner, fading in and out.

Soap’s jaw locked.

"Price, we need exfil fast. I don’t know how long he’s gonna last."

"I know. Just keep moving. I’ve got you."

Soap clenched his jaw, nodded to himself. Right. Keep moving. The town wasn’t far now. Soap set his teeth, tightened his grip on Ghost, and kept walking.

...

Every step was harder than the last. Soap’s knees felt like lead, his arms aching from keeping Ghost upright. His muscles screamed, his head pounded, and his vision blurred at the edges, but he kept moving. One more step.

And another.

The abandoned town finally came into view—a collection of crumbling structures, rusted-out vehicles, and shattered windows, the remnants of a long-dead mining site. The place was eerie, bathed in the faint silver glow of the moon, but to Soap it was a lifeline.

Ghost’s legs buckled again, and Soap nearly lost his footing trying to keep them both upright.

"Almost there, Lt.," he gritted out, adjusting his grip, his fingers digging into Ghost’s gear as he hauled him forward. "Just a little further, Simon. You with me?"

Ghost’s head tilted sideways slightly, his breathing shallow, sluggish, but, "Still here," he murmured.

Soap let out a sharp breath. "Atta man. Price would kill me if I had to leave you."

Ghost let out a breathy, half-there chuckle, but it barely held any strength. Soap didn’t let himself dwell on that.

They made it into the town, staggering between the ruins of buildings that had been abandoned for decades. Soap’s boots crunched against broken asphalt, his own breath ragged, the wind howling through empty streets. It was quiet. Silent. No voices. No distant gunfire. No sound of enemy vehicles chasing them down.

Just nothing.

For a long moment, Soap’s heart pounded in his ears, the quiet so thick it felt suffocating. He felt like he was holding Ghost above water, like the second he stopped, the second he let go—

He didn’t let himself finish the thought.

Instead, he took another step forward, Ghost’s weight pressing heavily into him, his pulse a sluggish, uneven thing beneath Soap’s grip.

Then a distant thump. Faint at first. Then stronger. Then closer. Soap’s head snapped up, his heart hammering as the deep, unmistakable whump-whump-whump of rotor blades filled the night.

A helicopter. Soap exhaled so hard it was nearly a sob.

A gust of wind kicked up dust and loose debris, the chopper swooping in low over the town, sending the dry earth swirling. Soap tightened his grip on Ghost, adjusting his stance as the aircraft’s floodlights swept over them, illuminating them in a harsh, artificial glow.

The second the wheels touched down, the side door slammed open and two figures came barreling out.

"Soap!"

Gaz was the first one off the bird, his rifle slung across his chest, moving like a damn bullet straight toward them.

Price was right behind him, his boots hitting the dirt hard, his face set in grim determination.

Soap barely had time to brace himself before Gaz reached him, sliding under Ghost’s other arm without hesitation, taking some of the weight off Soap’s straining shoulders.

"Fucking hell, Tav." Gaz’s voice was tight, his hands gripping Ghost’s gear as he adjusted his stance. "How long has he been like this?"

"Too long," Soap gritted out, his legs nearly giving out in relief now that someone else was helping. "We had to run, got a little out of sorts. He pushed through it ‘til he couldn’t anymore."

Price stepped in next, his face dark with something close to fury as he took one good look at Ghost, at the sluggish way his head lolled, at the blood still soaking through his bandages.

Price swore under his breath, then reached out, gripping Ghost’s jaw gently but firmly, tilting his face toward him.

"Ghost," he barked, low and sharp.

Ghost made a faint noise, barely a sound, but his eyes didn’t fully open.

Price’s grip tightened. "Look at me, Simon."

Ghost’s eyes slit open just a fraction. Just enough to see.

Price exhaled, his jaw clenching, but when he spoke again, his voice was gentle. "That’s it," he murmured.

Ghost’s head tilted slightly toward him, his breathing still too shallow, but still, "Not goin’ anywhere, sir," he mumbled.

Price huffed, a wry, tight breath of laughter, shaking his head. "Damn right, you’re not."

He slipped in under Ghost, taking Soap's spot. Soap damn near collapsed right there.

"Come on," Gaz said, adjusting his grip. "Let’s get the hell out of here."

Soap nodded sharply, ignoring the way his own exhaustion was creeping in, pushing it down. "Aye. Let’s move."

With Gaz supporting one side and Price on the other, they hauled Ghost toward the bird, Soap achingly climbing in behind them, Nik's hand shooting out, pulling Soap in.

Soap didn't bother sitting up in a seat as Nik closed the door.

Thanks for reading. midnight am blurb turned fic... should I continue? It has been continued here!

[beatingtheshitoutofmen]

There’s something about watching someone else get held down by people you know are stronger than you. You know if you pull the wrong move then it’ll be you on the ground next. The gut twisting feeling that you’re not in a safe place and at any moment they could attack.

A whumpee watching another whumpee pulled into their restraints. Unrestrained whumpee unable to move while whumper holds down a different whumpee because of how SCARED they are that they could be next.

[girlsdogmotif]

more random whump things i live for

snapping and pointing (not utilized enough imo) particularly in the presence of others to humiliate whumpee

“What did I just say?”

“…Are you done?”

whumpers that mock whumpees like school bully kind of whumpers that are clearly just insecure assholes that want to take it out on others but god are they good at making you feel like shit

really any manhandling but recently been loving subtle manhandling like pushing whumpee by the nape of the neck or tightly squeezing a shoulder, wrist, or arm

also such a cliche trope but dragging someone back by the ankle in a brawl or just in general UGH THATS THE GOOD SHIT

slapping. just randomly or after whumpee says something that doesn’t seem to really deserve that kind of punishment and it catches them off guard. also love repeated slapping until whumpee caves that gets me EVERY TIME

a calm smug whumper snapping and just beating the shit out of whumpee the anger that was swirling under the surface finally coming out and it’s fucking terrifying

two whumpees are captive but one of them has been with whumper before and is an entirely different person than the other whumpee has ever seen them. they’re meek and scared rather than strong and confident

bonus points if whumpee 1 is an older sibling/mentor role to whumpee 2

whumper is whumpee 1s mentor/parental figure, or lead detective/cop/warden who has been trying to recapture a criminal whumpee after they escaped or got out, also works well with hero villain whump (i particularly love this one due to originally finding whump through newsies fanfic don’t judge okay)

[ashoss]

Idk if the ask game is still ongoing but mayhaps some tim whump? Bonus points for some family time🥺

ouchie! :( he got hurt :(((

[michsmeesh]

oh arthur

[dying-crying-pining]

whumpy hints

some tiny details that tickle the whump senses

• dark circles, bloodshot eyes

• falling asleep fully clothed, possibly with jacket and shoes still on, legs/feet hanging off the foot of the bed or sprawled half-on half-off a couch

• the “oh shit, i’m gonna faint/nevermind i’m good” face (and aborted grab for nearest solid object or person)

• a character losing their footing for a moment on rough terrain. someone reaching out to grab them so they don’t fall and they both hold on for a hot second

• closing their eyes and leaning into a gentle touch

• shaky hands, shaky voice

• falling asleep at their desk at work/tucked away in an odd place

• doing things that are out of character & having others start to notice: losing their cool, being extra chipper or extra quiet, jumpy

• zoning out

• someone getting between them and whoever they’re having a heated exchange with, gently pushing them back with a hand against their chest or shoulder

• slipping out of sight from the others to lean against a wall, tip their head back and close their eyes

[valmoth]

good luck prying him off in the morning

[comfortingcatharsis]

A character looks at another who is clearly not doing well- at the extremis of exhaustion, in emotional tatters, minorly but miserably ill, waterlogged, pervadingly chilled, looking like they've been dragged backwards through a hedge or several- and just opens their arms and says to them "Come here-" which is all the invitation the woebegone character needs to fall into their companion's arms to be wrapped in their embrace.

[gaywineauntsstuff]

saw someone said dick should apologize to jason in the comics for having putting him in arkham

i am sorry i think the f*ck not 😭 like i love jason as much as the next guy dmw but come on guys

“Jason was in Arkham”

“Dick wanted to put Tim in Arkham”

I sincerely apologize to my whump friends but I fear yall don’t know Jason Todd’s game

First let’s not talk about the fact the only person Dick put in Arkham who was miserable was himself. We aren’t gonna talk about it. Or the Arkham reform thing he was doing a the time or the other 600 things that were going on

Hell I won’t even talk about what Jason did in blackgate (WHWRE HE WAS INITIALLY) b4 he killed a hundred people to end up in Arkham we don’t need to talk about it

I won’t talk about the menace that is the hottest version of red head Jason Todd okay we have, as a society moved past that.

But genuinely for a second can you imagine that conversation

Dick guilt ridden: Jason, I- I owe and apology

Jason cleaning his crowbar: ….

Dick: I never should’ve put you in Arkham I’m so sorry being near the joker-

Jason: was literally part of the whole plan? Why the hell do you think I TRIED to get into it

Dick: exactly! I shouldn’t have indulged your worst impulses, fuck I should’ve brought you home or kept you with a league member

Jason: I would’ve killed Tim and kidnapped Damian to use as a barter tool with Ra’s Al Ghul. You know this. I need you to tell me that you know this

Dick: fuck Jay you were nineteen! That’s basically a fucking child

Jason: I’m so sorry weren’t you ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED AT 19? Didn’t you run the league for a couple months at 18? Do you think you could do more than I could at 19 dickface.

Dick: No Jason you don’t understand-

Jason: oh perfect Grayson just because I chose to become a crime lord and YOU decided to do the cringe fail hero gig. Which was really. Cringe and fail since it’s so obvious you either wanted to be dead or a supervillain

Dick: wha-that���s not true!

Jason: sure sure go say hi to Donna Troy’s grave for me

Dick:…..

Jason: ANYWAY just because I spent my teenage years outside of spandex building a criminal empire DOESNT MAKE IT LESS IMPRESSIVE THAN YOUR STUPID TITANS GROUP R I C H A R D

Dick quietly: I’mstillsorry

Jason: well im not sorry for the fact i strung you and damain up nude to reveal your identities, im also not sorry for stealing your suit and killing people in it, while we’re on that topic im also not sorry for STEALING BRUCES SUIT, im not sorry for beating tim up that shit was funny as fuck and I’m also not sorry for laughing when bludhaven blew up.

Dick: ….

Jason: so shut your fucking ass up talking about ‘oh I’m so sorry Jason’ like we didn’t spend the past decade trying to ruin each others lives

Dick: I NEVER TRIED TO RUIN YOUR LIFE

Jason: MY LIFES DREAM WAS MURDER ERGO YOU NOT LETTING ME DO THAT RUINED IT.

Jason: we WERE assholes to each other past tense and I will 100% be taking advantage of your raging guilt complex to pretend those things are equivalent to each other and now that we are all happy family bygones will be bygones whatever I can fully abuse you to get out of league level shit.

Jason: anyway what are you gonna do next? apologize to Tim for Red Robin

Dick guiltily: he’s the next stop

Jason: omg your actually doing an apology tour

Dick: I FEEL BAD OKAY

Jason: dude you know what I’ll indulge you, go try and apologize to Tim but when he LAUGHS you out of the room for being a fucking dumbass I’ll be there with popcorn

Dick grumbling: Steph accepted my apology to HER

Jason: yeah because everyone in this family was a dick to Steph and she deserved better.

Dick: yeah she was a phenomenal batgirl i wish we worked together more now that she’s spoiler

Jason: did she really hit Tim in the face with a brick

Dick: yep

[teine-mallaichte]

We need to expand our use of dilirium within the whump community I think.

When people see the prompt "dilirium" or "dilirious" in a whump event most jump to fever, illness, infection. And that's fine. That's valid. But there is SO MUCH MORE to dilirium.

Delirium is a complex psychological state that can indeed be triggered by illness and fever, but it can also result from a wide array of other causes. It’s a state where cognition and coherence deteriorate, where reality may start to frey at the edges leaving the whumpee confused, disorientated, maybe unable to even distinguish reality.

You can drive a character into a dilirious state without any external factors. A characters cognition and coherence can be picked to the brink by so many things.

1. Extreme Sleep Deprivation: this is a favourite of mine. A whumpee kept awake for days on end, their cognitive functions begin to deteriorate, the boundary between wakefulness and sleep blurs, leading to fractured and disjointed thought processes. The mind starts to struggle to maintain coherence, resulting in hallucinations and a profound disorientation.

2. Substance Withdrawal: Not one I've explored much, but can totally count. The body and mind in chaos, craving what they can no longer have. The physical symptoms can be brutal, but the psychological torment can drive them into a state of delirium, where reality becomes a shifting, unreliable landscape.

3. Psychological Torture: Another one I tend to gravitate to. Intense psychological manipulation, sensory deprivation or overwhelm can also drive the mind into delirium. Continuous gaslighting, isolation, or exposure to disturbing stimuli can erode a characters grasp on reality, leading to a state where they can no longer distinguish between truth and illusion.

4. Emotional Trauma: this a mental breakdown. Severe emotional trauma pushing a whumpee into a to their mental limits. The overwhelming stress and fear fracturing their mind, causing confusion, disorientation, dissociation, hallucinations as their psyche tries to protect itself and struggles to make sweetheart if what's happened/happening.

5. Overwhelming Physical Pain: Pain, just pain, if relentless and severe enough, can lead to delirium. A whumpee in constant, excruciating pain might find their mind breaking under the strain, leading to confusion, disorientation, and a detachment from reality.

6. Fever: and just because it can't really be left of the list, fever. Infections, illness, etc. But did you know there is more than one kind of dilirium? Yes there is the sick whumpee who is too weak too most and admits all their insecurities and secrets in a slurred disjointed major. But there is also the type of dilirium where the character becomes energetic, erratic behavior, pacing incessantly and speaking rapidly, refusing to rest. Frustrating and worrying for those trying to help.

And this is just the ones of the top of my head. There's so much potential here! And yes this is a very self indulgent and selfish post that I wrote while writing a fic where I am inducing dilirium in a character through acute stress and an identity crisis 😅 but in short - I want to see more varied portrayals of dilirium in whump.

An extension of this post A similar post about hallucinations A similar post about fever