#recovery fic

[enden-agolor]

thanks for giving recovery 600 kudos, that is actually crazy?? i will never understand how this fic became so successful but i'm seriously so honored, so here's some quick little doodles <:D

[whumpshaped]

Could you make a pet whumpee that was trained to act, to obey, when they hear a *click*. And a Caretaker always and -by accident-, clicking a pen when he's stressed, making Whumpee comfused and scared.

tw pet whump, accidental bad caretaker, conditioning, past trauma

Click.

Click.

Click.

Whumpee perked up more and more each time, looking around for the source of the sound. It was Caretaker, but... they didn't seem to be paying any attention to them at all.

Click.

What did they want?

Click.

Whumpee was starting to tremble a little.

Click.

They didn't know what to do.

Click.

They whimpered despite themself, out of fear and frustration. They wished Caretaker had established what the clicks meant before they started clicking, like Whumper had done. Then they would've been able to just obey.

They froze when Caretaker stopped and looked up, realising their stupid voice had disturbed them. "I'm so sorry," they breathed. "I– I just don't know– I didn't know what it meant–"

"What?"

"The c-clicking, I didn't know, I couldn't figure out–"

Caretaker looked at the pen in their hand like it was a snake, and promptly threw it on the desk. "Fuck. Whumpee, I'm sorry. It doesn't mean anything. I'm so sorry, I keep clicking every pen I touch. Are you okay?"

"I, I am, I just need to know, I need to know for next time– Please, I just need to know–"

Caretaker pushed their chair back and rushed over, kneeling by Whumpee to give them a hug. "Shh, it's alright. It's alright. It doesn't mean anything. You don't have to do anything. I'm so sorry it stressed you out so much."

The tension slowly drained from Whumpee's body, and they allowed themself to melt into the embrace. "Does it... does it really not mean anything?" they choked out.

"It really doesn't. I promise. You're not a dog, Whumpee. You're not being trained."

[madeofstardust17]

Working on some dialogue, can't decide if Brucie Wayne telling someone "try it. I can buy your lawyers." Is incredibly cringe, or incredibly in-character for him

[oddsconvert]

Shattered #9 - It's Cruel To be Kind

Previous / Masterlist / Next

Apologies for the wait!!! 🥺❤️

CW: Whumpee thinks Caretaker is new master/whumper, vampire caretaker, bloodbag whumpee, reference to vampire whumper/previous abuse/captivity, bloodbag whumpee, recovery whump, aftermath of nightmare, emotional breakdown/self doubt (August going through it!!!) [Pls lemme know if I missed any! 🫶]

---

The wind is swept from August’s sails. It feels as though he’s adrift in the open ocean. Lost at sea with no waves or wind to carry him to shore. A storm rages overhead, lightning splitting through the pitch-black sky, dark clouds rolling in. There’s an island on the horizon, a glimmer of hope. It calls August - it beckons him. And he tries with all his might to paddle there, waiting for the gust of gaia’s wind to propel him towards salvation.

It never comes. The ferocious ocean waves sway August further away. Totally stranded and utterly helpless. 

August skulks out of Declan’s bedroom in bruised defeat. The desperate screams for mercy and freedom fade until they’re nothing but a distant echo, swallowed up by the silence of the house. This isn’t working. This isn’t fair. They’re getting nowhere. The road they are paving for the human’s recovery is nothing more than them blindly stumbling in the dark and feeling their way around, and it’s to Declan’s detriment. At his expense. Torturing the already tortured soul. 

It’s cruel, August thinks. He took an oath when he devoted his life to medicine; he swore to alleviate pain and suffering, to do no harm, and uphold ethical practices. This cannot be ethical. Surely. What he’s doing feels downright criminal and inhumane. Is it worth the healing of Declan’s body only to terrorise his mind? Leaving him in perpetual anguish and dazing confusion day in and day out. Keeping him hidden and isolated far away from his loved ones.

August slides his back down the wall, head buried in his hands. He can still hear Declan’s shrill cries ringing in his ears, piercing through his heart. Honestly? He always hears them. Day and night. Since that first day Declan woke up and nearly burst his eardrums with his terrified screams. August’s conscience won’t let him forget them, it’s harrowing.

Because Declan is scared half to death of August. The screams are because of him. 

Home might just be the best medicine for Declan. That is the true cure August is searching for. Declan may not be held here with ropes and chains or kept under the lull of persuasion; but he is wholly and unwillingly dependent on August for his survival. Declan has no choice now but to rely on the vampire for his entire humanity -  he’s too weak to fend for himself, let alone chase his own heart's desire. He is reliant on the vampire for his nourishment, for his health, safety and protection and even his communication. His whole way of life. The only way Declan can exercise his own free will, is if August helps him to.

And well…Declan keeps asking for home. Who is August to deny him that?

“He’s going to try some sleep again,” Lucas whispers across the hallway, careful to slowly and gently pull the bedroom door to. No loud or sudden noises. They’ve learned that the hard way. “I’ve promised him we’ll leave him to it for tonight. He just needs space to breathe.”

And then what? Declan jolts awake an hour later in floods of tears and hiccuping sobs again? Do they ignore it this time? Leave him be and let him cry it out? Or send Lucas back in…he likes Lucas. August knows he shouldn’t be, but he’s so envious of that. He’d never harm a hair on Declan’s head, he’s fought tooth and nail to save him. Why must he be branded the bad guy?

August knows the answer. That doesn’t make it any easier.

“I have never seen fear like that in my life,” Lucas slumps beside August on the floor, a far-away look on his face like he’s just seen a ghost. He stares blankly, dead ahead, at the floral wallpaper across from him, and shakes his head in disbelief, “What the hell do you put a man through to make him scream in his sleep?”

Hell. Exactly that. That’s what you put him through. You turn him into a zombie, living dead. A body forced to live when its mind is melted to a puddle. You send him to tango with death and live to tell the tale. Hurt him until he can’t feel it, and even then still hurt him some more. It’s impossible to comprehend the horrors Declan suffered, or fathom why or how someone could do that to another living, breathing being. But it happened, and August can’t change that no matter how hard he tries. 

“Lucas? Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

It’s a question that’s been rattling inside August’s skull for a while now. Guilt and sympathy fighting each other to the death. He only ever wanted to help Declan back on his feet, bring him completely back to himself and, help deliver him home all in one piece. August could never live with himself if Declan went home to his family,  lifeless and comatose. They may as well have sent him with his casket too. And he can’t send him back as he is now; the tattered man weeping himself into another dread-fueled nightmare.

Or can he? Should he?

“Without a doubt in my mind,” Lucas asserts, certain as can be. He says it with his entire chest, and he seems almost offended by the question. He straightens himself from his slouched slump on the floor, sitting up against the wall and crossing his legs underneath him, “What makes you ask that?”

August opens his mouth, but no words come out. His jaw clicks shut before he can even dare try. If he says it, it makes it all real, doesn’t it? Every worry springs into existence, everything he’s frightened of is brought to life. August will have to face all his mistakes and misdeeds, every foolish mis-step he’s taken in Declan’s care. But he has to own up to it sooner or later. Face the music. So he can do what’s right by Declan.

“I fear…  I fear we’re doing more harm than good to the boy.”

“August-”

“W-What if I’m getting this all wrong?” August falters, his voice thick with shameful, threatening tears. As Lucas shuffles closer to console him, August crumbles even more into the floor and wishes the ground would swallow him whole. “What - What if we’re hurting him, and sure maybe not hurting him like that vile monster who stole him but... in a different way?”

Declan still thinks and feels like a prisoner. He was trapped in Vince’s basement, and then he was trapped in his mind, his body and now trapped all over again. This time as August’s patient, stuck helpless in bed. 

But Lucas shakes his head passionately, giving a reaffirming squeeze to August’s knee. Lucas is too good to August, too kind and forgiving. It’s more than he could ever deserve in this life or the next. But right now his words of encouragement fall on deaf ears, August needs to be told how it is. And it's plain as day that his presence is damaging Declan, not helping him. Declan is still suffering. He’s supposed to be free and thriving, and he’s still hurting.

“Were it not for you, Declan would have taken his last pained breath that first night you brought him home. Even worse, he could have died a broken shell of a man in that basement, alone and suffering. You revived him. You gave him a second life.”

It doesn’t feel like it. What kind of life is jumping at shadows and cowering behind blankets? Terrified of what’s around the corner. A thousand words trapped in his mind that he could never say.

“I bought him. Like livestock…he thinks he’s my property-”

It’s time to call it a day, and let him give up the fight and lay down his sword.

“He’s just scared, August. He’s so scared, and all alone and horribly confused. He’s been through hell and back. It’s not you.”

“It is me, Lucas,” August disagrees,  “It’s what I am.”

A blood-sucking monster that stalks the night looking for its next prey to feed from and drain dry. August has spent his whole life trying to break free from that mould, to run far away from what he’s supposed to be and never look back. Somehow Declan sees right through him, right down to his core. He sees what August refuses and tries to hide from. His own blood, his very nature.

“How could he ever heal at the hands of something he fears the most?” August asks, disgusted with himself. He should rip out his fangs and run outside to bathe in the sun’s agonising rays. It sickens him that he is associated with the brute that did this to Declan. That August’s kind hunt and kill humans for food… for sport. Who could blame Declan for being scared of vampires. August is scared of vampires.

“He deserves better-”

“-Declan deserves you,”  Lucas’ tone was clipped, as if his word was final and there was no possible room for discussion. But August had known him so long, he could hear the affection underneath the terse words. “You are the best thing that could have ever happened to him. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Lucas once looked at him the same way Declan looks at him now. With nothing but fear and disdain in his eyes. Backed into the corner like a scared small animal.  August remembers the way he felt when they both locked eyes for the first time, terror meeting terror; it felt like he wasn’t worthy of breathing the same oxygen. That he was a monster, and should whittle the stake himself and hand it to Lucas with an apologetic bow. 

Has August always mistook help for harm?  He must be doomed to repeat the same cycle of pain. Maybe it’s just in his cold-blood. His vile, worthless blood. Vampires hurt humans. That's how the story goes. There’s nothing he can do to escape that fate.

“My friend,” August chokes up, grabbing Lucas’ hands to squeeze in his own, and stroking his thumb over his wrists.  “I wronged you. I hurt you. Just like I’m hurting Declan now.”

A thousand apologies could never make up for what he’s done, the hurt he inflicted. Years down the line the shame and regret still plagues him, festers inside him deep down. Over and over he’s told he’s forgiven, more times than there are drops in the ocean. Again, it doesn’t change the fact it happened.

“You saved me,” Lucas gasps in awe, astounded by August’s confession. Something they’d both long agreed was water under the bridge. “ Just like you’re saving Declan. Would you have given up on me?”

“Never.”

“Then why give up on him? When he needs you more than I ever did?”

A fire lights inside of August, determination burns within him. This isn’t throwing in the towel, this is him fighting. Doing what’s right, even if it feels wrong. If it means letting go-

“I’m not giving up on him. I would never give up on him. I want to do what’s best by him.”

“I trust you, August. And I think if you just hold in there, Declan will learn to trust you too. It just needs time.”

Time does heal all wounds, as they say. And maybe Lucas is right. Maybe if they just play the waiting game, Declan could make it through to the other side, unharmed and unafraid. Yet August knows that these aren’t fresh wounds - not anymore - they’ve turned to ugly, withered scars. A permanent mark on the boy’s mind, body and soul. There’s no curing that. But could Declan learn to live with that?

“Tell yourself what you tell him. He’s not a captive. We’re going to take him home, yes?” Lucas quirks an interrogative brow, and August nods miserably in response. Declan is starting to feel like a captive against all intent and promises. “I think if we drop him off in human territory now - lame and pain-riddled, scared of everything that moves - that is what would be cruel. Us looking after him and building him back up for a little bit longer; that’s the mercy he’s begging for. Even if he doesn’t realise that right now.”

“How do I know which path to take?” August whispers with a wince, like the daunting thought threatens to implode inside his mind.

“Humans know so little of vampire persuasion, how it affects the brain and body. He could be stuck like this forever. His family will get half their son back at best. Who knows if his state will deteriorate? If he’ll ever walk or talk again. We can help him, August. You know that we can help him feel human again.”

“I don’t want to cause him any more unnecessary pain,” August laments, “He’s been through enough.”

August was never under any illusion this would be easy. He was prepared to weather the storm from the second he first laid eyes on Declan. Down in that basement; knelt and bound, small and fragile, unreachable and lifeless - drowning in Vince's power. August can help Declan, he’s got him this far already, he’s nearly out of the woods. They could do it, this could work. But at what cost? 

“Whatever you decide, I’m with you,” Lucas promises, “Wherever you go, I’ll follow. Always…”

August had saved Lucas before, hadn't he? Perhaps there is still hope. Perhaps he can still save Declan.

---

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for beta-ing this chapter!!!!

Next update will drop on Monday! (7/8) 🫶 Time for a lil flashback to how August and Lucas met... 🤫

Taglist: @octopus-reactivated @whatwasmyprevioususername @ramadiiiisme   @darkthingshappen  @whumpsday   @thecyrulik   @t0rture-me   @redwhump   @the-cryptid-finch   @snowstuffscuff   @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump   @wolfeyedwitch   @interdimensional-chaos   @termsnconditions-apply   @whump-blog   @leyswhumpdump  @not-a-space-alien   @onlybadendings   @darlingwhump  @sparrowsage   @flynnswhumpprompts  @whumpcereal  @wolves-and-winters  @ashh-ed  @idkmansomeusername @whuarri  @33-sdtr-45 @pigeonwhumps  @canislycaon24  @the-whumpers-grimm  @damienxozmoze  @predacon-skydrift  @morning-star-whump @neverthelass @espresso-depresso-system @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @mushroomlover554 @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @kadeee00 @that-one-small-world @doodlepoodle154 @sodacreampuff @cupcakes-and-pain @topsheepstudent

Let me know if you would like to be added or if I forgot you! 🥰

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

21

inspo by @whumpitlikeyoumeanit

[tw self-harm, self-deprecation, past trauma, implied past captivity, lashing out, anger as a trauma response, rocky recovery, argument between friends]

"This is so stupid," Whumpee muttered. "So fucking stupid. What the fuck is going on with this?"

"Whumpee, it's normal." Caretaker tried to take them by the hands to stop them from picking at their scars, but Whumpee flinched away before they could have. "Hey, it's okay. It's alright."

"It's not! It's so fucking itchy! Like– twice a year it'll get fucking itchy like it's brand new, for, for no reason! It's so annoying!" Whumpee kept scratching it until it hurt, feeling ridiculous that this small thing was making them lash out like that. "It's healed, it's fully healed! And not only is it ugly, it's itchy."

"You're going to make yourself bleed–"

"And? What's it to you? It's my body, isn't it? That's what you always say. Whumper never said that shit. They were upfront, they said 'your body is mine to perfect and mine to ruin.'" They made Whumper sound as stupid as possible just so they wouldn't have to deal with the tears. "But you're different, right? You're telling me my body is actually mine. I can perfect it and ruin it myself, right?"

"Whumpee..."

"No, no! Don't give me that! I can do whatever the fuck I want! I can most definitely scratch a stupid itch!"

Caretaker sighed and sat back, watching with a frown as Whumpee continued to rub their skin raw. It was a matter of principle at this point, and Whumpee was prepared to push it to the limits.

"I can do whatever I want," they repeated, quieter. "My ankle was flaring up earlier too. If I had enough one day and decided to chop it off–"

"Don't say that," Caretaker cut in, increasingly more nervous.

"Oh, now I can't even say shit. I can't do anything, I can't say anything. So much for autonomy. So much for–"

"Whumpee, don't... you're being ridiculous."

"Sure," they spat. "I'm being ridiculous."

"I don't mean that in a– look, I just... I want you to take a deep breath, okay? And just calm down a little. Clearly, you're not having a good day–"

"Yeah, I'm completely unfit to make decisions for myself. Because it's a bad day, and I'm fucking stupid."

Caretaker slammed their hand down on the table in frustration, and Whumpee finally stopped messing with their scars. Their eyes snapped up to their friend, fearful and shocked. They shouldn't have been shocked. They'd wanted to instigate, and now here was the fruit of their labour.

"Stop putting words in my mouth," Caretaker said as calmly as possible. "Yeah?" Whumpee nodded a little, still stiff as a board. "I'm sorry for banging on the table."

A small part of Whumpee wanted to go further. They wanted to make another comparison between their friend and Whumper, they wanted to push it, they wanted to see just how angry Caretaker would get. A much bigger part of them wanted to slip onto their knees and grovel.

They ended up doing neither of those. They stayed seated, unable to do anything but make a nervous attempt at wiping away their tears and shaking their head to signal it wasn't a big deal.

"Fuck, Whumpee..." Caretaker stood up and circled around the table, and Whumpee tried to push them away on instinct. "Whumpee... Hey. I'm sorry." They knelt down and finally took Whumpee by the hands, wincing when their eyes landed on the patch of raw skin. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so upset with you. You're safe, I promise. I would never hurt you."

"I don't actually want to chop my leg off," they choked out. They had no idea why that was the first thing they wanted to address out of everything, but it felt like the most urgent matter at hand. Caretaker nodded.

"That's good news."

"I'm not fucking dumb."

"I know you're not. I know."

"You keep treating me like I– I can't even joke about it, or get angry, or– I... I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't... it's... I shouldn't get angry with you. I shouldn't be saying these things."

Caretaker squeezed their hands a little. "I can't really... deny that sometimes it gets scary when you joke about it. Especially when it doesn't sound like a joke, or when you're... already upset and in a bad headspace."

"But I wouldn't do it!" they snapped, then immediately shrank back and murmured an apology.

"I can't read your mind. I just can't. And I know you're more than capable of hurting yourself." They sighed. "Listen... Bodily autonomy, and, and your right to– to hurt yourself if you want to... I... I don't know how to explain..."

"I'll never actually have autonomy."

"Please don't do this. Please don't ask this of me. To– to prove that I mean it by letting you hurt yourself. That's fucked up. Surely, you realise that's fucked up."

Whumpee didn't say a word. Of course they knew. But they felt like a dumb kid, trying to find out where the limits of their freedom were by constantly pushing back against their parents' rules.

"I want you to be safe. Ultimately, I can't stop you from... from doing anything, really. I can't stop you from hurting yourself, not if you really want to. But– but it's not about stripping you of your bodily autonomy. It's about... me, as your friend, wanting you to be safe and healthy. That's all. And it sucks so fucking much that you treat it like I'm– like I'm forcing horrible stuff on you, when I've never done that."

"I know," Whumpee whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's not about apologies, okay? I know you're in a very tough spot. I know it's difficult. I just want to... I'm trying to explain my reasoning. I want you to understand where I'm coming from, since..."

"Since I'm so fucked in the head."

"Please, stop putting words in my mouth. Whumpee, I'd never think any of these things about you. Please, stop."

Whumpee wanted to curl up and die. They couldn't shut up about it. They couldn't stop putting words in everyone's mouths. All their brain did day after day was supply them with endless amounts of negativity their friends must've been thinking, even if logically, they knew it probably wasn't true. "I'm sorry," they repeated.

Caretaker let go of their hands and placed their own on Whumpee's knees instead. "I want nothing but for you to be happy and healthy. That's all I ever want. And this might sound rude as hell, but when you ask me to let you chop your leg off, it feels like you're a kid asking to eat two tonnes of candy and stay up for three nights in a row. I can't in good conscience agree to that. I know it's a bad idea."

Was that how people perceived them? Like a child, throwing a temper tantrum? They could feel themself checking out entirely, their mind refusing to grapple with all the things that had been said. I told you I didn't actually want to chop my leg off. "Okay."

"Okay?" Caretaker gave them a look of cautious and reluctant hope. "You understand where I'm coming from?"

"Yeah."

"Are you just agreeing because you're overwhelmed?" Whumpee hesitated, and it was enough to make Caretaker's hope shatter. "Well..."

"No! No, that's not... You didn't even let me answer!"

"I guess I didn't. Sorry. I just... I know when you're about to lie about stuff like this." They sighed and stood up. "Whumpee, I love you more than anyone in this world, okay? I hate to make you feel overwhelmed. Or like you have to agree with me. Why don't I get some cotton pads to clean that wound, and then we'll take a break from this conversation?"

The argumentative brat in them wanted to say no just for the sake of it. But they felt so exhausted all of a sudden, they just couldn't. They ended up nodding their agreement wordlessly, and then they sat in silence the whole time Caretaker was tending to them, letting their mind drift.

This was all so stupid. As they looked down at their many scars, they wondered whether they could even chop off a limb on their own. Had they been joking when they said it? Or were they actually considering it?

It didn't matter. As angry as Whumpee had been about restrictions just a couple minutes ago, they were quickly realising they at least made these thoughts kind of meaningless. It didn't matter whether they had it in them, because Caretaker said they weren't allowed do to it anyway.

"All done," Caretaker said all too soon. "Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit? Or do you want me to sit with you?"

"Sit with me," Whumpee said without thinking. The request sparked that sliver of hope in their friend's eyes again as they nodded and walked back to their own chair.

"No talking?" Whumpee shook their head. "Alright. No talking."

[steampunkserpent27]

Art by @biskueee for my WIP recovery fic. (Mature, currently 129K) -Do not repost/re-use-

[3-2-whump]

TW/CW: post-trauma, very vague mentions of trauma, scars

I am absolutely weak for…

A whumpee who ends up looking after a child one day. Could be his, could be Caregiver’s, could be a friend’s, it doesn’t matter. One day the child happens to see his scars peeking out from the hem of his shirt as he bends over.

Innocently, she asks, “What are those?”

“They’re scars,” he answers simply.

“Can I see?”

What would’ve been an impossible task for him several years ago is accomplished within minutes as he takes off his shirt and turns around.

The little girl gasps behind him. “What happened?”

“I got hurt,” he explains.

“How?”

“Someone…hurt me…”

“Why?”

And really, how much should he tell her? She’s so young, she doesn’t need to know. More importantly, how much can he tell her? How can he answer that question when he himself doesn’t even know?

Sometimes kids are perceptive, though.

The girl stops asking, knowing when to quit probing. Instead she runs her tiny fingers over his back, and Whumpee is glad he didn’t flinch under the contact.

“They make you look like a tiger,” she says, her attempt at diffusing a tense situation.

Whumpee was not expecting such a compliment. “They do?”

“Yeah-oh!” The little girl scampers off, laughing to herself as she runs into the house, only coming back once she has her mother’s eyeliner pen in hand. She beckons him down to where she can reach, then draws haphazard lines across his bare stomach, chest, and face.

Sometimes kids are silly, he guessed.

“There” she beamed triumphantly. She grabs a makeup mirror and shoves it in Whumpee’s face. “Now you look like a tiger on the front, too!”

“So I do…” Whumpee can’t help but feel the smile creep onto his face. “And this tiger’s gonna eat you right up!” He pounced playfully toward the child, letting her get a head start before chasing her around the back yard, laughing all the while.

Sometimes kids are amazing.

[the-baby-storyteller]

this is a long one.

Part 5

Tw: brief noncon mention (imagined), slavery, minor whump,

———————————————————————

Arlo had to admit, he was not expecting this situation.

But looking down at his arms to the girl on the floor in front of him, he found himself quite bewildered as to what to do.

Ezlynn had straight up collapsed in front of him. With a look of pure exhaustion and pain on her face, she had crumpled so quickly that Arlo had to run to grab her before she hit the ground. Well, before they hit the ground.

So now here he was, sitting on the floor, Ezlynn unconscious in his arms, honestly feeling quite dazed as to what in the world was going on.

Why had she collapsed? Was she alright?

Arlo sighed. He needed to get it together. Shaking his head, he waved himself out of his blank daze. He needed to start somewhere, do something.

Standing, Arlo hefted Ezlynn into his arms.

I need to move her…The floor was no place to stay. Where was her room anyway?

He couldn’t figure that out now. He needed to quickly bring her somewhere, somewhere she could rest in peace without being disturbed.

Setting his mind, Arlo exited the living room. As he walked, however, confusion struck him.

What…what was he holding?

Ezlynn’s felt light. Too light. Much much much too light.

He was shocked. He could have been carrying a feather. Honestly, when she’d fallen into him, he’d only felt bones and nothing else. A glance at the figure in his arms confirmed his suspicions. Ezlynn’s limbs were practically sticks connected to a frame, dangling from his hold.

Come to think of it, though, now that he had the opportunity…

Arlo wanted to look at her face. It wasn’t weird or anything like that! He’d caught her in passing, yes, but with all her weird bowing and looking down, had he ever gotten to actually see her? It felt kind of unnatural to have someone in his house, who, mind you, he’d been living with for a while now, and have never seen their face. He wasn’t sure how Ezlynn would feel about it, but….

Hesitantly, he took a look.

The first thing Arlo noticed on Ezlynn’s face was fatigue. Dark bags circled her eyes and her mouth was slightly parted, huffing faintly through her unconsciousness.

Arlo winced at her pain.

But beneath all the exhaustion and pain evident on her face, she really was just a girl.

Purple hair covered youthful skin, flowing down to her torso. Her face was delicate and smooth, free from harsh lines. Eyelashes framed faintly angled eyes that fluttered as he walked. When unconscious, Ezlynn’s features were light and calm, exhibiting a peace Arlo had never really seen her show when she was conscious. It was…nice. Interesting? Arlo didn’t know. But it definitely made her feel more normal, like a real person. She could have been one of the girls in his class.

Arlo sighed and shook his head.

As he walked with her head slumped against his chest, he couldn’t help thinking: How did she get like this?

Now that he thought about it, Ezlynn had been working…a lot. When did she take breaks? How could it get so bad that it got to this point where she literally collapsed? And in the middle of the day?

This couldn’t happen anymore.

—

The first sign that something was wrong was that Ezlynn woke up on something soft. She didn’t register the danger initially, instead snuggling softly into the fuzz beneath her.

“Mmm…” She groaned groggily as she awoke. Warmth surrounded her. Finally, she smiled, sinking deeper into whatever was around her. She was finally in peaceful solitude, no orders being barked at her, no work, just rest and heavenly, heavenly warmth. Warmth and quiet and…

Wait. Warmth?

Ezlynn poked an eye open. She looked at her surroundings. The walls around her were white and adorned with decorations. Chairs, tables, and furniture were placed in miscellaneous spots around the room. There was no freezing air blowing or metallic, dungeon-like walls surrounding her. She wasn’t in her room.

She wasn’t in her room.

Her eyes widened, heart rate starting to pick up. This couldn’t be…

Quickly, she opened her other eye and looked down.

A bed. A soft cream colored bed that she’d been making every day.

She almost laughed in her terror. H-Hah…what…?

I-I’m…I’m on Master’s bed?!

Ezlynn choked, scrambling to sit up.

No, no no, this couldn’t be happening. How did this happen? How could this happen?

She put a hand on her chest, heaving but trying to calm her frantically beating heart.

Answers. First, she needed answers, needed to catalogue the situation and figure out what kind of absolute mess had occurred while she was knocked out for her to wake up on Master’s bed.

Okay, think Ezlynn. What happened? How did you get here?

There was no way she would ever, ever come to the Young Master’s room on her own accord. Then had the Young Master put her there? Had he taken liberties with her? Had she been punished?

But no, she was…fine. She couldn’t feel any pain. She was still reeling, in fact, by how warm the blankets under her continued to be, and there was no aching or soreness anywhere. Nothing hurt. Nothing at all. She had simply been resting the whole time. Recovering, even.

Ezlynn screwed her eyes together, letting out a stressed exhale.

How long had she even been lying there?

“Oh, Ezlynn, you’re awake.”

Ezlynn’s eyes shot open and she whipped her head up.

The door opened to reveal the Young Master walking in through the doorway. Instantly, all her efforts to calm herself were thrown out the window. She flew into a kneeling position on the bed, nearly digging her chin and shoulders into her chest with hands placed on her thighs in obedience.

“M-Master,” she hastily croaked, “I am so, so sorry, I don’t know how I ended up here, please, I’m terribly sorry. I deserve punishment, I know, but I truly do not know how I got here, please-”

“Woah, woah, calm down” the Young Master replied, raising his arms placatingly, “Take it easy. I put you here.”

Ezlynn went rigid.

“Wha-what?”

“Yea, I did.” He fully entered the room, placing a tray on the table nonchalantly. Ezlynn was stunned into silence.

“I thought you would still be asleep by now. You really were knocked out for a long time.”

Exlynn winced. How dare she sleep for so long, and on the Young Master’s bed?

“You’d collapsed from exhaustion.” He continued, “I carried you here. You scared me there for a second, Ezlynn, becoming unconscious so suddenly.”

Master had carried… her there? She burned with humiliation. To make her master have to carry her to his bed to rest? What kind of madness was that? Was she crazy? It didn’t matter if she was unconscious, it was still her fault. Lips trembling, started to bow further to beg forgiveness when-

“You really looked like you needed the rest,” The Young Master said, “I didn’t know you were working so hard. You really have to stop before you start doing too much, okay?”

Ezlynn tried her best to get words out. She leaned forward, “M-Master, I-”

“Do you need any more rest?” He asked.

“N-No!” She almost shouted, “I am well now, Master, I don’t need any more rest.” Her head pounded lightly in protest from her exertion, but she ignored it, hiding a wince from him. The warmth underneath her still felt so good but she couldn’t stay with it forever. She needed to leave and go back to her duties this instant. She’d already gotten herself into so much trouble and mess when she never should have in the first place.

The Young Master frowned but turned and walked back over to the door.

“Alright, but please take it easy. You can have this day off. I’ll tell my cousin. Take more breaks, please, throughout the day.”

With that, the Young Master quietly excited, leaving Ezlynn alone.

She sat in a stupor, unable to even formulate any functioning thoughts. She was so confused.

Master brought me…to his room? To rest? On his bed? He didn’t do anything to me or touch me. He’s told me to…take breaks?

Nothing, nothing was making sense, and despite the urge she had to quiver with fear, her found herself more overwhelmed by confusion than anything else.

Ezlynn decided to just do what she knew, one step at a time. She knew for a fact that she had to get off the Young Master’s bed, so she hurriedly did so, trying not to mourn for the lost warmth. It was never hers to begin with. She checked the time; 6 pm. Shoot. She should have already gotten started on dinner.

Quickly padding to the door, she turned the handle-

Wait. Master had told her to take a rest. She paused.

What would she do now, then? Who was going to deal with the rest of the chores? Her mind spun as she tried to make sense of everything. But she couldn’t just disobey the Young Master’s order. Was it just back to the basement then? Ezlynn wavered.

Ugh! None of this would have happened if she had composed herself and never fainted in the first place.

Shaking her head vigorously, she tried to wipe the whole situation from her mind. She’d made a mistake, one she was not going to make again if for no reason other than that the outcome confused her so terribly that it started to scare her. She would obey her master’s orders and sit in the basement for the rest of the day, determined not to cause any more trouble than she already had.

With one last glance around the room, Ezlynn turned and shut the door.

[hellcheerficdatabase]

How Not to Drown

Author: @wheremermaidsdwell

Rating/Warning: Explicit, referenced ED, child ab*se

Chapter Count: 19/19 (Part 1 of How Not to Drown series)

Description:

“You scared me. I'm glad you're-" Eddie switched sentences, "Are you going to be ok?"

"Yeah," Chrissy nodded, knowing it might be a lie. If she couldn't get things under control it could get worse. “I just have to be healthy."

-

After almost dying in Eddie Munson's trailer Chrissy decided something in her life had to change. If she was going to recover from her eating disorder before it killed her, then she needed to fix her life of enablers, and trashing her reputation seemed like the way to go.

If Eddie Munson and the Hellfire club was the fastest way to ruin her popularity, then all the better. Eddie helped her once, maybe he'd do it again.

Tags: Alternate Universe- no vecna, falling in love, recovery fic, angst, so much angst it hurts, Lux why did you recommending (kidding, it hurts so GOOD), angst with a happy ending, fluff, smut, Chrissy is recovering, Chrissy needs a hug, Eddie is a sweetie, strangers to friends to lovers, hurt and comfort, Chrissy POV, multiple chapters, part of a series, status: completed

[enden-agolor]

i have nothing else to offer but this little doodle page 😔 i don't have much time to draw as of recently so i hope this pleases the gay minecraft man audience

[aranhilelemathir]

Warning: Part of my Headcanon, Whump, Post-Torture, Sickfic, Amnesiac OC, OC-Centric, Recovery Fic, Post-Captivity. Story about an OP OC

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3017, TA Rivendell

Aranhil could gained more control on his conscious now, especially after the feast to celebrate Yestarë had occurred. Although in fact, Elrond just let him to sit on an armchair at the corner of the Hall of Fire, together with a pot of warm orange juice, cookies, some cutlery and roasted goose leg on the nightstand in front of him. But he enjoyed that night the most. He loved how cheerful Lindir was at that feast, also a drunk head Avaron who danced with a handkerchief in his right hand.

He felt grateful with that, and his mind- which is still not working properly in common sense, keep remind his soul to reassure everyone- especially Elrond, if his decision to let him join the feast is correct. Although all his body oftenly throbbing now, but his instinct keep talking if this is still fine and nothing than what he experienced before in Dol-Guldur. He has nothing to distract his pain before.

But here, at least Avaron bring him some books from the library, and Aranhil just finished his first book after a week had passed. He put the book in his hand on the nightstand, before he throw himself to the gray armchair with a frowning forehead. His legs are still weak, and only with that movement, Aranhil could felt if his head give him a good chunk of headache.

Aranhil sighed and close his eyes for some while before he heard a creaking door and footsteps walking closer to him. Aranhil slowly opened his eyes again and looking to the back, just to found Haldir standing some steps from the door. Aranhil leaned his head to the headrest and closed his eyes again. Haldir sat on the edge of the bed, his blue eyes are staring straightly to the black haired ranger.

"Aranhil," the ranger's green eyes slightly opened and rolled to the direction of Captain of Lothlorien, "still feeling good?"

"Is something happened?" Aranhil asked while turned his head to the gray sheeted bed. Haldir just shook his head, "eh, you know you can't lie to me, Gwador. News move fast, especially today."

"Fine. Some kids want to have some talk with you, Aranhil."

"Kids?"

"Because they are young. I can guess human age because of you now."

"I'm not sure i know or remember any younglings out there, Haldir."

"They have ginger hair, and they claimed to come from Rohan. They told me if they know you from their father."

With a scrunched up face, Aranhil try to search for anything inside his messy, dark and broken alcoves of his memory. A ginger head from Rohan. Probably a family, since they know him from their father. But what value was he leave in Rohan before? He cannot find any shard from his memory about that. All he can find are many clear shards everywhere. Aranhil frantically take and throw any shard he can find around him.

'Not here. Not this one. Oh not any clear shards again please. But where? Why - why I can't find anything?'

His frustration only give him a real jolt and cut in the head. Still with his scrunched up face, closed eyes and frowned forehead, Aranhil is questioning himself on how and why his memory become like a ransacked realm now. Although his breath is ragged, even he doesn't aware if some tears are forcing their way out to his sunken cheeks.

On the other hand, Haldir stood and bend his back in front of the armchair where the ranger sat. His eyes are staring straightly to the ranger's face, and both of his arms are gently squeezing on the thin shoulders of the ranger. Aranhil, who slowly open his eyes, just turned his head away from the faded blonde haired elf. His head can be hurt, but he has to wrapped his composure for anyone who visit him. Or that's how he believed on it now. He just need to looks fine, right?

"Is his words still linger in your head, Gwador?" Although he is not certain with the answer, but Aranhil quietly nod his head. His head is throbbing, after all, "i will tell them to wait then."

"Don't be, Hal," Aranhil's hand work faster than his mind and mouth. He manage to hold his elven brother's wrist without say his whole sentences, "all is well. Just bring them to this room. Maybe i will find something from their faces."

"I will not let you alone then."

"Don't feel too dutiful, Gwador. If you want to leave then leave me alone with my messy head."

"You said that again. That means I have to stay by your side."

Aranhil groaned. His lower right arm is on his forehead. His legs are stretched out straightly, formed a declining line from where he sat. Some times had passed, Aranhil can hear another creaking sound from the door, and many footsteps walking closer to the bed. Haldir is speaking in casual common language before Aranhil turned his head to the direction of the bed, then all he can witness is three younglings with ginger head.

One fine young woman, and two men with stern demeanor. His black eyebrows arched in surprise, before his wide forehead could be seen frowning again. His eyes carefully studying their features. The ranger clearly trying so hard to recalled something from his memory. But Aranhil looking straightly to the wall, while the frown on his forehead growing deeper.

"Tell me something," at least a murmur could be heard from the ranger, "please tell me something, so i may clean my messy head."

"Do you remember something about Elian Thyari, Master Feren?" someone new who has a heavy voice asked. Aranhil can find a bubbly ginger haired man in his memory, "we are his children. Our late father wrote if you may know someone who know how to dispel a witchcraft."

"He is not wrong. But what kind of witchcraft we are talking about, actually? Only one person who may speak, please."

"Rohan is in danger, Master Feren. Something's weird happened to the King. He just sat on his throne and do nothing. But his new advisor lead Rohan to the brink of destruction now."

"His new advisor is scary. Sometimes i thought he will do something to any young lass in Edoras."

"He said only one who may speak, not two. Don't push someone who lost a good amount of his own memory to find more facts in his broken mind."

"Urk, we are sorry Master Elf."

"My name is Haldir. All of you need to remember my name from now."

King of Rohan. Sat on his throne and do nothing. A new advisor. Aranhil's left hand rubbed the right side of his neck. His temples are twitching, and his mind now imagining about the map of Middle Earth. Rohan can be close to Gondor, but it's also close to Isengard. Aranhil turned his head to the direction of the bed again with arched eyebrows and rounded eyes. He saw three pairs of gray eyes. Their eyes are screaming in desperation to his green eyes, then Haldir is standing close to the bed, his hands are folded neatly on his chest.

"Please tell me what happened to King Theoden," Aranhil hastenly said. Those three young Rohirrim rounded their gray eyes in confusion, "i remember now, and the conclusion about witchcraft may be true. I've heard something like this before, and that's why i choose Rohan in my journey to come home from Ithilien."

"Like i said before. He just sat on his throne and do nothing," the heavy voiced Rohirrim said, "but what is in your mind, if you may excuse us to know, Master Feren?"

"The White Wizard had fallen since then. Even i'm afraid it happened many decades ago."

"Master Feren? Are you certain with that? That's a heavy accusations."

"Tell me your name, rider. Also with your siblings. I have my own reason to said so."

"Uh, my name is Edgar. The long haired man is my twin, his name is Eremes. While this girl is our younger sister, Leona. We are intently banished ourselves to escape from many nonsense which will occured."

Haldir know this well. Aranhil have a right to said so, since the White Wizard, Saruman, was the one who kidnapped him in the middle of no where. But what surprised him the most is the fact if his Gwador is not his only victim. There can be more than two. Haldir feel an urge to assist the ranger, but Aranhil refuse him and walked to the left side of the bed to take a dark brown wooden long stick. The height may reach his head, but it's better than have nothing to help him walking around the house.

"Where do you wish to go, Master Feren?" Edgar asked. Aranhil's black eyebrows arched in surprise, "you can tell us if you need some rest. We can go outside now. You don't have to feel worried or scared, Master Feren."

"My real name is Aranhil, Edgar. Please just call me Aranhil," the ranger said with a smile in the end. His answer leave the three wanderers from Rohan gaping, because they finally know who the ranger is now, "and i need some green and fresh air. Now excuse me, everyone."

"You will not going without me, cloud head!"

"Then let's go, Gwador. We can have another properly talk later, Elianion, Elianiel."

[whumpshaped]

tw past trauma, conditioned whumpee, dehumanisation, de-conditioning (gone wrong?), manipulation

“I… I’m not sure about this. It feels kinda mean.” 

“I’m literally asking you to do it,” Whumpee said, rolling their eyes a little. Despite their attempts to seem nonchalant, though, it was very clear that they were nervous about this. “Please. I can’t live my life like– this. If I’m outside while some fucker is training his dog, I– it’s embarrassing. I need to do something about it.”

“And you think re-triggering yourself is… the way to go.”

“It’s exposure therapy. I don’t get why you’re the one being so weird about it. You’re not even the one who’s about to do the heavy lifting.”

Caretaker sighed, still uneasy about the concept. “I just don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I don’t want to be rude, I don’t want to do any of that. I want you to be okay.”

“Well, I need this to be even remotely okay.”

Caretaker bit their lower lip as they thought about it, trying to convince themself this was fine, and they shouldn’t be making a fuss about it. Whumpee was right, they had to get over it at some point. It was just… Caretaker didn’t imagine they would be the one doing any sort of therapy. “Okay,” they said softly. “Um… then, uh, do you wanna start on the floor, or–”

“No. Come on. Tell me to– say the command.”

Fuck, this was so uncomfortable. Caretaker took a deep breath and closed their eyes. “Alright. Kneel.”

The sound of Whumpee’s knees hitting the floor followed just a few moments after. It wasn’t really a conscious reaction, from what Caretaker understood. It was instinctual. Reflex. They opened their eyes to see their friend looking at the carpet, flexing and unflexing their hands that were resting on their thighs. 

“Can you get up?” Caretaker asked gently. 

“I… Of course…” Whumpee swallowed audibly, and made no move to actually get to their feet. “I just need a moment…”

“This was a bad idea.”

“No! No, I can do this. This is so stupid. I can do this. I need you to repeat the command whenever I start getting up, though. Please.”

“I shouldn’t–”

“Can you just help me for once? Instead of coddling me endlessly? I want my fucking life back!”

Caretaker flinched a little at the yelling. “S-sorry. You’re right. Um… Go ahead, then.”

Whumpee slowly took their hands from their lap and placed them on the floor, then made an attempt at pushing themself to their feet. Caretaker hated to do this. They hated seeing their friend on their knees, they hated ordering them around like an animal. But what else was there to do? Whumpee had asked them for help.

“Kneel,” they repeated quietly. Whumpee’s resolve crumbled immediately, and they sat right back down: back straight, hands in their lap, perfect as ever. They seemed embarrassed by it. “If at any point you’d like to stop–”

“I can do this,” Whumpee insisted. “I can do this. They’re just words. Stupid words.”

They tried to get up again. Caretaker sent them back to the floor with a single word. They tried to get up. Caretaker told them to kneel. It was awful. It was so bad. Whumpee started crying after the fourth time, and Caretaker just couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m done,” they said, tears in their eyes. “I’m not doing this to you.”

“What the fuck?” Whumpee snapped. “You said you’d help!”

“And I said I didn’t want to hurt you!” they yelled back. “You’re sobbing! I’m not doing this. I want you to get better, and I’ll pay for as many therapy sessions as I can, but I’m not doing this.” They turned around and stormed off, wiping their eyes as they went.

[madeofstardust17]

Recovery chapter 2 is up!!!

More whump, but we're getting closer to the comfort I promise!!

[oddsconvert]

omg this shattered chapter is gonna be so long..................eep

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

17

[tw panic attack, past trauma]

Whumpee knew there was something wrong. They always knew. That had never been the problem.

The problem was that nobody had ever listened.

So they stopped talking about it. Whenever they got sick, whenever the trauma got too overwhelming, they just bottled it up and swept it under the rug. Nobody cared. Not talking about it was less painful than trying and being ignored.

But it was really bad today. The delusions were strong, the hallucinations crept up on them way too fast, and soon they were overcome with the most debilitating terror they had ever experienced.

They sat on the edge of their bed, motionless, trying and failing to calm their racing heart. Everything was too much. Everything was terrifying. They were simultaneously trapped in and locked out of their own body. They couldn't stand up to call for help, they could only wait and hope it would subside.

And it did, if only a little. It eased up enough for them to push themself to their feet and stumble out of their bedroom. They made their way to Caretaker's study and knocked, then knocked again, knocking and knocking and knocking mindlessly until their friend opened.

"Whumpee?" They looked concerned, and it was nothing Whumpee had expected or ever experienced before. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

They couldn't answer. They whimpered softly, breaking down in tears instead of giving a coherent explanation. They were shaking badly, and Caretaker immediately took them by the shoulders and guided them inside to sit, pulling them into a hug on the comfortable sofa.

"Breathe, Whumpee, just breathe. I'm here." Caretaker held them tight and rubbed their arm as they cried, and it was the warmest embrace they'd ever received. "It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be just fine. Just breathe with me."

[steampunkserpent27]

Art for my WIP recovery fic, which you can read here. (Mature, 139K) Art by @jittery-wisp