chaos-and-codeine

[chaos-and-codeine]

Navigate my chaos if you want

If you're new, read My Introduction Post and say hello!

The very few days of June of Doom 2024 I completed:

Day 9: I made a mistake.

Day 10: Can you hear me?

Day 11: We're out of time.

Day 12: I can’t stand to see you like this. + dehydration

Other Original Fics/Drabbles:

Electrocuted

(I promise I'm working on some postable stuff, this section will grow soon!)

Prompts, lists, and more:

An Incomplete List of Lovely Whumpy Things

Some Oddly Specfic Whumpy Ideas

[chaos-and-codeine]

Caretaker has finally found Whumpee, but they're in a bad state. There is no time to take care of anything right now, and they have to move quietly to avoid being detected.

The whispered "can you walk?" and "lean on me" as Whumpee tries their best to be helpful, and Caretaker half-dragging them through the dark hallways. Whumpees injuries hurt them as they move, and they can't keep the sounds of pain in.

They hear someone coming, and Caretaker quickly pulls them to the side, hiding in a small closet. Whumpee squeezes their eyes closed as they fight the pain of the sudden movement, and Caretaker pushes their hand over Whumpees mouth, apologetic, but needing them to be quiet.

Whumpee leaning forward and dropping their head on Caretakers shoulder as they muffle their groans in their jacket.

Bonus points if Whumpee is usually stoic or closed-off, and Caretaker's heart breaking to see them like this.

[chaos-and-codeine]

Imagine a Whumpee who has to be sedated.

Maybe they're in too much pain, or they need to undergo a medical procedure or maybe they're violent after being rescued, holding onto the "fight to survive" state of mind.

Imagine Whumpee thrashing around, pushing doctors away, putting up a fight while screaming and crying, begging to be left alone.

Imagine Caretaker grabbing their wrists or legs to keep them still and shushing them, risking to get hurt as well by Whumpee's wild behaviour.

Imagine Whumpee slowing down, struggling to keep their eyes open, and one last sob dying in their throat as they finally lose consciousness.

Caretaker can only sigh in relief.

[chaos-and-codeine]

I'm not typically a fan of straight emotional whump, but when coupled with physical...that's my jam right there

Ok but hospital bed snuggles are actually the best

Very very true, anon.

Especially when whumpee is absolutely terrified, confused, maybe even slightly delirious, and the only way caretaker can calm them down is by slipping into the bed with them, dipping under the IV line and trying not to disturb any of the important wires.

"It's alright." Caretaker whispers, stroking whumpee's hair as their breath hitches and the tears run down their cheeks. "I've got you now. You're alright."

[chaos-and-codeine]

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Information Pt.3

TW: Blood, Torture, Violence

Summary: You get rescued(finally)

Part 1, Part 2

Silent. From the moment Price had found you in that dingy cell, broken and bleeding, that was all you had been. You were silent when they moved you, though it had to have hurt with how many broken bones and lacerations you had. You were silent when the medics asked you where you were injured, how you had been hurt. You were silent through the debriefings, through the desperate attempts to find out what you had been through, what secrets you had spilled. You were silent through all of it. 

It wasn’t your fault, not really. A mental barrier you had constructed during months of torture to keep secrets from spilling, a dam built with a mantra of DON’T TALK to keep your thoughts at bay as your captors repeatedly tried to draw them out of you. 

Even now, when the rational part of your brain knew you were safe, knew that these men, the men you served with, the men who had tracked you down and saved you, were to be trusted, the barrier would not fall. 

Every ‘what did they want from you, what did you see, did you recognize them, how many of them were there’ was met with silence. Anytime you opened your mouth you were hit with a wave of fear so strong it sent you into a panic attack. 

They understood, in part. They had seen recordings, seen the rooms, seen your broken body at the time of rescue. 

It took them 2 days to get to you after figuring out your location. They went in guns blazing, and tore the place to the ground. They split up, Price and Gaz taking the left with Soap and Ghost taking the right. They shot at anything that moved in their quest for vengeance, breaking down doors and checking every nook and cranny for where you might be locked up. 

Price found you about a quarter of the way into the camp. He took the bottom floor and Gaz took the top as they cleared the building. He had stopped before a door that was different, metal and welded shut with a small little flap in the middle, instead of solid and wooden like the others. It took him and Gaz some prying and metalwork, but they got the door open. 

Price almost cried when his eyes adjusted to the change in light. You lay curled in the corner, back to the wall as you shied away from the light. Your hair was tangled and matted with dried blood, your clothes were torn and dirty and your skin was crusted with so much blood and grime that he couldn’t even see you underneath it. 

“Y/n?” He had called, but there was no response. He crept slowly toward you, keeping his movements as open and relaxed as possible. He crouched in front of you, taking note of your dilated pupils, sunken eyes, obviously malnourished form. He winced at the weird bulges in your skin, indicative of broken bones. 

“Sorry love.” He whispered to you, taking a steadying breath as he slid his arms under you and lifted. Hise expected you to cry out, the action no doubt causing unspeakable pain, but you didn’t. In fact, you didn’t react at all. He didn’t dwell on it then, opting to get you somewhere safe and secure. 

“9 broken ribs, a broken left femur, both shoulders dislocated, pneumonia, dehydration and severe malnutrition, multiple lacerations that required stitches, broken wrists, all 10 fingers broken, right kneecap dislocated, multiple concussions, and a hairline fracture on their skull.” The doctor had said. It hurt all of them to hear how badly wounded you were. 

They gave you two weeks to recover before asking any questions. The first week you were unconscious, in a coma as your body tried to heal you. The second week you spent in worrying silence, saying nothing to anyone, not to your doctors, not to your teammates, not to your friends.

Price sent Ghost in first. He had had similar experiences and Price figured he would be able to relate. However when Ghost came storming out an hour later, slamming the door behind him, he came to regret that decision. 

“I got over it.” He had said, “Why can’t they?” Price reminded him that not everyone responds to trauma the same way and sent him away.

Soap tried next, and came out near tears after sending you into a panic attack after calling you ‘Little Bird’. He was confused until Ghost not-so-gently reminded him of the video they had seen, of the words ‘Pretty Bird’ being used over and over. Ghost pretended not to hear him throwing up in the toilet later. 

Gaz tried, to no avail. He ended up just sitting in silence with you, showing you videos of his cats. He counted it a victory when your busted lips twitched into a tiny grin for a few seconds.

And on and on it went, with refusing to speak to anyone. They were losing hope until the psychiatrist finally spoke with you. 

“GIve them time.” She said gently, “You trying to force a response will just make this worse.” 

So they do. The higher-ups still want answers, of course, but Price manages to dissuade them from asking until you are out of the hospital. They spend the weeks treating you as normal as possible, stopping by to give you updates on missions, show you a video of Soap absolutely biffing it in training, tell you the latest gossip of which recruit is sleeping with who. But even though they are trying, they still handle you with kiddie gloves, afraid that the wrong word or look will make you shatter irreversibly. 

Which brings you to now. It’s nearly 2 A.M, and visiting hours are long over as you stand unsteadily in the bathroom, staring at your pale, pathetic form in the mirror. You open and close your mouth, trying and failing to get words out, the barrier cemented in your mind by blood and tears too strong to break down.  

‘Speak, you stupid fucking bitch!’ You scream mentally at yourself, ‘You have to speak! If you don’t you'll be discharged and you'll never be able to serve again! They already think you’re broken, and if you can’t tell them different they’ll never treat you the same. Stop. being. So. Fucking. Pathetic.’

Tears streak your cheeks as you slide down the wall. You draw your knees up, hiding your face in them as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. Rationally, you know you are safe. Rationally, you know that if you were to speak, nothing would happen. But it’s not the rational part of your brain that is keeping you from speaking. 

Going dark in that hellhole you were trapped in had saved your life, and you couldn’t seem to get past it. Sure, not responding had almost killed you right at first, as Kravchenko became more and more ruthless in his attempts to get you to speak again, but eventually he grew bored. His little plaything had lost its sparkle, and he locked you in a cell and threw away the key as soon as he lost interest. But starving to death was still a better alternative to the all-consuming agony that had been your day-to-day. 

And now, the subconscious, irrational part of your brain was convinced that if you spoke you’d be dragged right back and strapped to a table, that you’d wake up to find that your rescue had all been a dream. That you-

“-/n! Y/N! Y/N!” You flinch, startled out of your reverie. You look down to see rivulets of blood running down your arms, your nails having gouged holes into your skin. You look up to see the eyes of a worried nurse, holding your hands in hers. 

“There you are. We lost you for a minute. Do you mind letting me bandage you up here?” Her voice is soft and gentle and you find yourself nodding, letting her lead you back to your bed where she cleans and bandages your upper arms. 

“What are you doing up so late sweetie?” Her voice is calming, almost hypnotic, “I mean, I’m awake cause I get paid to be, but you should be sleeping all your injuries away, shouldn’t you dearie? If I was you, I’d of been cryin’ too, being awake at 2 A.M. for free.” She laughs, the sound echoing through the room, “Course, I suppose you probably think I’m crazy for agreeing to work this shift anyways. Did you know I was supposed to have this shift off? But Roberta’s kids have the flu and so I agreed-” She keeps talking, her voice soothing your fears and helping you relax. YOu can’t help but mentally thank Roberta’s kids for being sick, for sending this wonderful lady who does not treat you like you're going to break at any moment to you tonight. 

“And that should about do it dearie. Just press that little call button if you need any more help, alright?” She says cheerfully. She squeezes your hand and heads to the door before pausing. 

“Make sure to get some sleep.” She leaves, gently closing the door behind her. Something about her makes you feel safer than you have since falling off that helicopter. Maybe it was her motherly demeanor, maybe it was the fact that she treated you like a normal human being, maybe it was the fact that she could have put you on a psych hold an ddin;t, but whatever it was, you loved her for it. 

And as the door closes and the room stills, you whisper a quiet “thanks.” 

Part 4?

~tags~

@louthedino @scarletdfox @dangerkitten1705 @warenai @spineless-spino @rainy-darling

[chaos-and-codeine]

Oh. My. Gosh.

Guys.

This is not a whump post (but maybe emotional whump is in play here?) but GUYS I just went and watched Inside Out 2 with my sister and friend and it's insane.

-No spoilers really, just hype-

Everybody is talking about how accurate Anxiety is and it isn't that I disagree, but that's not what got me I don't think. I'm a sucker for a redemption story as long as it isn't too simple of a fix or cheesy. I'm also a sucker for people rallying together for someone that's hurting. I realize both of those are vague, but dang that was a good movie (and I'm not usually into animated stuff, just live action and reading cuz cartoon doesn't reel in my brain enough).

Go watch it if you haven't man. If you have seen it, I wanna know if the fellow whump community felt the same or if it's just me. Let me know you guys.

[chaos-and-codeine]

Alright, so I'm taking forever to finish up some actual fics (my fault for starting like 7 because now I can't choose which to work on first), but I wanted to get on here anyway.

No idea what to say about this because it's a bunch of little things smashed into one post, but go off I guess. Without further ado:

Literally just a few weirdly specific but broad enough rambling whumpy thoughts that are getting me good right now and maybe they'll get you too:

Warnings and content: Talk of injury and pain, mentions of poison and electrocution, blood, tears, implied drinking/drugs and mentioned withdrawals, emotion and fear and insecurity (poor guy needs a hug man)

-Whumpee that isn't covered in blood or bruises, but is in so much pain and just clings to caretakers hand or their shirt or the bedsheet while caretaker strokes their thumb on their forehead. Maybe they're poisoned and the painkillers helped but it just has to work through their system. Maybe they were tortured with electricity and their muscles are so tired and torn. Maybe they were drowned and revived for information. Take your pick, but whatever the situation, caretaker will wipe the tears falling towards their ears and won't leave their side.

-The world (or state or country or whatever floats the boat in your fictional universe) has gone to crap and the team can't go to a hospital or to their main headquarters because the enemy will get them. So they and their injured whumpee go to a secondary base that isn't usually used. They were able to get a lot of their medical supplies but this base isn't set up for such needs. Whumpee is on a couch or a pullout bed, bloodied and bruised. The team medic is doing their best, rationing pain meds so they can keep from running out and causing whumpee more pain later. Caretaker sits opposite medic, holding onto whumpee with one hand and helping medic however they can with the other hand.

-Whumpee made some bad decisions. Tragic Thing™️ happened and they tried to hold it together but in their desperation to seem okay they hid their pain from everybody. They disappeared and the team hadn't seen them for weeks. They went to old habits and people to tried to escape themselves. When they finally show up at the teams doorstep, they're shaking and scared and hurting in multiple ways now. They start apologizing desperately and wonder if they should've come here, but caretaker rushes at them and squeezes them tightly and whispers assurances that they should very much be there. Whumpee is weak and sick and beat up and withdrawals are probably beginning. Caretaker makes food and gathers medicines and curls up next to them and wipes their tears, lingering on the sides of their head as they lock eyes, "I got you, whumpee. Your emotions aren't too big for us, let us carry them with you."

(I suppose all this proves is that I'm obsessed with whumpee being held and assured while they're in mad pain)

[chaos-and-codeine]

Would def read a part two man, very good

Pneumonia whumpee being poked, prodded, listened to, etc. Embarrassed that Caretaker has to see them in such a pathetic state. Bonus points for intubation anxiety and Caretaker trying to reassure Whumpee that they'll be okay.

For the fourth time in what feels like ten minutes, whumpee is hoisted up, leaning against caretaker and breathing raggedly as the doctor presses the cool metal of the stethoscope against their chest and back. They can hear the crackling of their lungs without the device, so god knows how bad it sounds to the doctor. Caretaker brushes back their hair, hand lingering on their feverish forehead.

"Alright, take a deep breath for me." The doctor murmurs quietly, brow furrowed seriously.

Whumpee inhales, their grip on Caretaker's arm tightening with the rush of pain it sends flooding through them. Their head spins. Even with such an intense effort, they feel as though they haven't received any oxygen at all- the mask on their face doesn't seem to be doing anything to rectify that either.

After a few moments, the doctor draws away, and caretaker helps whumpee lay back down, exhausted and light-headed. The look on the doctor's face is hardly reassuring.

"Your breathing's not any better, I'm afraid. We've tried putting you on maximum oxygen but the pneumonia has developed too far for that to help."

whumpee doesn't have the energy to speak. they've already been poked full of needles for ABG tests, medications, etc. Their arms are littered with bruises. Their chest aches with every movement. The fever that burns through them is agonising too.

it's caretaker, therefore, that voices the all-important question.

"What... what does that mean, then?"

the doctor sighs, placing the stethoscope back around their neck. "I know this is hard to hear, but at this stage one of the avenues of treatment is intubation. We'd put whumpee in a medically induced coma for a while to let their body rest and recover. At the moment, they're expending too much energy on just breathing. this would take that load off their shoulders."

whumpee turns their head weakly, still resting on the pillow. caretaker's eyes are misty with tears.

when they see whumpee's worried expression, however, they sigh, moving in closer to press a kiss to their forehead.

"you're going to be just fine, sweetheart."

whumpee swallows, nostrils flaring. "t-tired."

"I know... you're going to go to sleep for a while, whumpee. have nice sweet dreams.

it's going to be okay."

**

part 2??? do people wanna see me do an actual intubation drabble??? writing about my odd obsession in detail??? lmk!!

[chaos-and-codeine]

Hey you guys!

So I'm away on a trip for six more days, so I may be a little less active (not that I was insanely active anyway), but I'm working on some stuff that I'm super excited to share. Ultimately that means my little guys are going through it right now as I write all the suffering haha. Hope I can post some of it soon!

For now, enjoy this wild little snippit.

Warnings and content: Electroctuion, captive whumpee, no present whumper, pain, possible torture

"N-No, don't," Raine searched desperately for a breath through the hot pain, "Don't touch me."

Dellan dropped beside her. His knees hit the floor carelessly as he reached for the metal chaining her to the floor, stopped short by her pleas. She strained against the cuffs at her wrists and ankles before her body fell limp against the ground again.

"If you touch me," Raine gasped again, trying to speak clearly, "they'll shock...us both. They're watching... they'll turn it up..."

Dellan suddenly understood the tensing against the chains; the straining and the shaking. All four cuffs were rigged to electrocute at intervals. And from what Raine said, it sounded like they would up the voltage if he touched her. He noted the camera in the corner, but didn't take it out. Better they think they're in control than provoke them.

Raine's breathing was slower now, but her face clearly revealed the pain she was still in. Tears streaked down toward her ears even as her eyes were shut. Dellan couldn't think about what he saw, couldn't let his mind wander to all that must've happened to her, or he'd fall apart in an instant. And Raine needed him to not fall apart yet.

"Jake is trying to figure out the power source, just hang in there." Dellan said. Just then, Raine let out a cut off groan as her body arched once more. Her face twisted in pain as she fought. After only a handful of seconds she came back down, but it was more than enough to have her gasping for air again.

[chaos-and-codeine]

Every night, whumpee re-lived their torment through nightmares. They awoke shouting, clutching their chest like they were trying to stop bleeding

Caretaker ran in, sitting by their side and trying to calm them. "It's okay! You're okay. It was a nightmare, nothing happened." Caretaker soothed, showing them their bandaged torso proving they were okay.

Whumpee exhaled and curled their arms around their chest, before muttering

"But it did happen"

[chaos-and-codeine]

Shooooooot, I'm in! Love seeing tiny blurbs from everyone.

This is the last sentence I wrote and it's gonna make zero sense out of context, but it's actually a part of something that I'm so excited to share with everyone. It might take a little more work before I start posting bits of it, but it's hopefully worth it.

The next one that caught her eye made her stomach flip all over again—a small boy with just a single glowing dot on the side of his head.

I've only talked with a few of you guys and most of you have already been tagged, but I've got a few favorite fic blogs that I'll pull in!

@staycalmandhugaclone @arctrooper69 @whumpster-dumpster

Thanks for the tag @whumpdoyoumean!

Rules: in a new post, share the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like)

His throat was too scratched to comfortably speak, so he settled for writing it out on the dirt instead.

(I would tag 19 people but that's a lot so here's 8)

Tagging (no pressure :)): @cakeinthevoid @dresden-syndrome @mirasmirages @whumped-by-glitter

@violet-prism-creatively @whump-kia @whumpninja @therealbluespirit

[chaos-and-codeine]

June of Doom Day 18

“I’m fine.” | Self-defense | Allergies | Headache

CW: 2nd pov, illness, sick whumpee, pain

As the day progresses, the throbbing in your temples grows worse, and as it grows, so does the lump of dread in your stomach. You know what it means. You know that sooner or later, the pain will spread to your chest, arms, and legs. You know you need to tell the others before your body betrays the truth.

But instead, you force yourself to keep moving, all the while not saying a word.

“You don’t look so good,” someone observes. You’re not sure who; by that time, the world has turned vague and fuzzy with pain.

“I’m fine,” you mumble back. Just tell them, begs the part of your mind that can still function. Tell them the truth. Tell them, and they can help you.

You ignore the voice. This is your problem, not theirs. The mysterious illness that the dying woman pronounced over you is your business, and you don’t want to bother anyone else.

But later, much later, you lie supine in a dark room as someone sponges your aching body, and you finally realize your mistake.

[chaos-and-codeine]

Ooo yep this is good. I felt a little called out by it ngl I didn't read the blog title first and thought it was just a self reflective post 🫠

Also, so many unique writing forms I'm coming across lately, keep bringing em on you guys.

you keep coming back, like an old wound reopened. you miss the abuse, the pain. the love afterwards, the care.

have i trained you a bit too well? i've tried getting rid of you several times, and each you've come back. how hard do i have to kick for you to go away for good?

[chaos-and-codeine]

additionally: whumpee that usually would resent the bedrest, but doesn't this time because of how much pain they're in or the sheer exhaustion of their experiences.

See a lot of whumpees who resent being put on bedrest, who are restless and itching to get back up and get involved again. I need to see more whumpees who welcome the chance to bury their face in their pillow for a good long while

[chaos-and-codeine]

“Please… I’m so tired.”

“Then sleep. I’ll stand guard.”

“I thought you said it was safe here?”

“It is. But you don’t feel safe, do you?”

“…not yet.”

“Then I’ll stand guard, till you can.”

[chaos-and-codeine]

June of Doom Day 1

"Help me." | Failed escape | On the run | Fetal Position

Cw: medical whump, needles, restraints

Whumpee contently sighs while slowly opening their eyes, squinting at the bright hospital lights. Their eyes widen as they see an IV sticking out of their arm.

Nononono. This cannot be happening again.

Whumpee starts hyperventilating, tears welling up in their eyes. Without a second thought they reach to pull the needle out, but their arms won't move. They look closer to see they are tied down to the bed. They start thrashing around frantically trying to escape the restraints.

"Where am I?" They couldn't possibly be back with whumper. "Help me!"

Caretaker comes running into the room. Their heart drops as they see whumpee thrashing around with a look of pure terror on their tear streaked face.

"What's wrong whumpee? You're in the hospital, you're safe." Caretaker runs over to whumpee's bedside gently pushing the hair out of their face.

"W-why is there an IV? Why am I tied down?" Whumpee's voice breaks, trying but failing to hold back their tears.

Caretaker grabs whumpees hand, gently rubbing circles on their palm. "I know you hate needles, but you need the IV to stay healthy. I didn't want to have to tie you down either, but everytime you wake up you keep trying to pull the IV out and escape. Don't worry. It's for your own safety ."

"So you're sure you're not drugging me or anything."

"No whumpee, of course not."

"I promise I'll be good. Just- take the restraints off. Please? It... reminds me too much of whumper."

Caretaker's heart breaks again at that. They don't understand what kind of monster could hurt whumpee like this. "I'm sorry but the doctor said to leave them on until we can be sure you won't act out. Can I trust you won't try to run out again?"

"Yes. I won't try anything again."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise."

Caretaker sighs, "Okay."

Whumpee calms down quickly as caretaker undoes the restraints. Whumpee is still frightened by the IV, but they tell themself they'll get used to it eventually.

"Thank you caretaker," whumpee says with a wobbly smile.

Caretaker smiles back warmly.

Whumpee curls into a ball under the sheets, careful not to mess with the IV. Caretaker stays by their side running their fingers through whumpee's hair until they fall into a peaceful sleep. This is going to be a long recovery, but caretaker promises to be by whumpee's side every step of the way.

[chaos-and-codeine]

Whumpee, limp, beaten, and half conscious bound up on the hard floor. Whumper kneeling down in front of them and grabbing whumpee's chin, pulling their face up to look at them without resistance as whumpee's head lolls and their eyes fail to fully focus.