fungalpieceofextras

[fungalpieceofextras]

#11

content: bad caretaker

“Can you shut up already?” 

The question rang out in the room and immediately silenced Whumpee, who was excitedly prattling on about their new hobby. They looked taken aback, then hurt. They averted their eyes, mumbling a little. “Um…”

Caretaker could barely believe they’d said that out loud. They were just so exhausted from work and all they wanted was to go to sleep for a moment, and Whumpee was talking so much— “Whumpee… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“No, I… Sorry. I get it.”

“No, no— I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

“Um…” Whumpee nervously pushed a strand of hair out of their face, still not looking at them. “N-Nothing. It was nothing. I’ll let you sleep. Sorry for keeping you up.”

Caretaker let out a long sigh that turned into a groan, burying their face in their hands. “For fuck’s sake… I said I was sorry. Isn’t that good enough? Just continue talking already.”

“But you… you clearly don’t want me to.”

“I said continue talking. What don’t you understand?”

“Um… I…” Caretaker let their hands drop back down on the bed and looked at Whumpee, who was seemingly getting more and more anxious. This wasn’t going well. They didn’t mean for this to go so poorly. “I’d… rather not. If that’s okay. I’m just gonna go…” They stood up, ready to leave.

“Whumpee… Come on… I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s fine.” It clearly wasn’t. “Have a good rest.” They turned around and walked right out, gingerly closing the door behind themself. Caretaker let out a frustrated sigh.

“This is so stupid…” 

They should’ve gone after Whumpee, shouldn’t they? But sleep was calling their name so sweetly… It would be better to sleep first, right? It’d give Whumpee time to calm down, and Caretaker wouldn’t be so irritable. Yes, sleeping first was definitely the right course of action.

They yawned and turned over on the bed, getting comfortable. Ah, the silence was absolutely divine. They were out within the next two minutes.

And the next time they woke up, they were still in bed when they decided they just weren’t going to bring it up again. Nine hours had passed, surely Whumpee was over it by now. Why bring it up and make them anxious or embarrassed again?

The way Whumpee flinched whenever they called their name did not escape them, but then again… Whumpee had always been a little flinchy, hadn’t they?

[fungalpieceofextras]

Something I think is under-utilized in living weapon/military whump is the habit of militaries to grind up their own troops almost as much as they do the enemy.

Whumpees with chronic back pain from carrying fifty pounds of gear across miles of rough terrain, over and over again for years

Sleep disorders from years of guard duty, schedules that require going to bed late and getting up early

Parasites and diseases contracted from rough camping in wet conditions

TBIs from being caught in the shock wave of an explosion

Mystery illnesses, even cancers, from handling agents of biochemical warfare. Good luck getting those properly diagnosed and treated, let alone even receiving acknowledgement or justice from the institution that forced exposure to it

[fungalpieceofextras]

"An insult to practically everybody with any point of view at all" one of the most beautiful sentences possible with the English language.

[fungalpieceofextras]

Oubliettes are underused in Whump imo.

The cramped darkness, Whumpee not knowing if they’ve been forgotten. Not being able to stand properly, let alone sit or lie down, or even to tuck their elbows in. Their bare feet shuffle against something solid and they pray it’s not the bones of the last Whumpee who was left behind. Perhaps the grate above their head lets them see out the window, forcing Whumpee to count the days. Perhaps instead it’s pitch black and the only sign of life is their labored breathing. Pebbles crumble onto their head. Whumpee hears the echoes of passing guards as they march their rounds, but they cannot or will not hear Whumpee.

Rope burns are inevitable once they’re rescued, as are the scrapes and bruises from their weakened, pale body scraping against rough stone on the way up. It’s the only proof that they made it out. The sunlight and fresh air are overwhelming and Whumpee can’t help but shrink away no matter how overjoyed they are. Whumpee can’t sleep without a night light of some kind. They can’t walk without limping from the stress their legs went through trying to keep them upright. Whumpee never stops talking now, rapidly, and sometimes they don’t make sense. Almost to the point of annoying their friends. But, their voice is permanently fried from screaming and Whumpee does not speak on what happened to them.

[fungalpieceofextras]

Tumblr is super big on the "I didn't say it was good, I said I liked it" but really need to discover the value in its opposite of "I didn't say it was bad, I said I hated it".

You can acknowledge that something is good, great, a masterpiece even, and just straight-up not enjoy it.

[fungalpieceofextras]

Characters that would die to protect anyone but no one would die to protect them have my whole heart. Especially if the character seems like a total asshole because they've been so mistreated that they don't know how to show how much they care.

[fungalpieceofextras]

Strong characters who don't show any fear. Even when captured. Even when they're on their knees, with their hands tied behind their back, when a fist or boot or weapon is about to connect with their face. They don't glance up in fear, they don't flinch, don't attempt to make a miserable attempt to fight back or run. They don't beg or plea. They simply take it.

They're not resigned. They're just biding their time. And waiting.

[fungalpieceofextras]

ATTENTION WRITERS

Google BetaBooks. Do it now. It’s the best damn thing EVER.

You just upload your manuscript, write out some questions for your beta readers to answer in each chapter, and invite readers to check out your book!

It’s SO easy!

You can even track your readers! It tells you when they last read, and what chapter they read!

Your beta readers can even highlight and react to the text!!!

There’s also this thing where you can search the website for available readers best suited for YOUR book!

Seriously guys, BetaBooks is the most useful website in the whole world when it comes to beta reading, and… IT’S FREE.

[fungalpieceofextras]

The villain, about the torture the protagonist: “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.”

Me:

[fungalpieceofextras]

Five lashes be owed, I believe it is.

[fungalpieceofextras]

Reacting to your dressings is Actually The Worst and I hope the medicine does its job and prevents you from gnawing your leg off.

It seems like I’ve developed an allergic reaction to the bandages inside my cast. My surgeon’s office could only prescribe me some medicine and tell me to wait till my next appointment to get it off.

In related news, if I gnaw my leg off, you’ll know why.

[fungalpieceofextras]

Thinkin about. Hmm. Someone in a Medievalish setting that just gets Absolutely Fucked Up. They're a prisoner of some kind (probably wrongly accused for whatever it was) who's been kept in a dungeon cell for days, beaten and starved in an attempt to get information out of them. Not to mention it's the dead of winter and their cell is freezing. The damp and the cold make them shiver constantly, their nose running, a cough growing deep in their chest. They wonder if they'll just freeze to death before they can be officially killed. Some nights they're in such misery they hope they do.

And then the king/noble/city leader decides it's not worth their time anymore, and the wumpee will just be executed. But due to the nature of their "crime", it's public and it's bad. First they're beaten and whipped in front of half the city, in the cold, while the crowd jeers. They try to keep it together, to stay both stoic and conscious through the whole ordeal, but for the last few lashes they pass out, unable to hold on any longer.

The next thing they know they're tied to a post outside the city walls, half naked, their wounds untended, the night freezing around them. The cold and the pain are unbearable, and they spend the next hour slipping in and out of consciousness - even when a rider takes sight of them and hurries over, shaking them by one icy shoulder to check if they're alive at all.

They don't even fully wake up when their bonds are cut, and they're wrapped in a stranger's cloak and hauled onto the back of a horse; though the concerned, encouraging mutterings in their ear might just penetrate the painful fog they're cradled in. It's hard to tell.

When the stranger gets home, to the far away house they've been on the road back to for nearly three days, they don't care much who Whumpee is or what's happened to them, all they know is they're carrying a bleeding, unconscious, half frozen little person in their arms and that person must stay alive if they have any say in it at all. Their family is all there around the warm fire, siblings, spouse, children, and their eyes go collectively wide when they emerge from the doorway, covered head to foot in snow and bearing a small and motionless bundle in their arms. And then the automatic response to seeing another person in pain sets in, and everybody chips in to help.

So the whumpee is laid out next to the roaring fire, their bleeding wounds cleaned and staunched, bruises soothed with clumps of snow from outside. They're so battered it breaks the heart of nearly everyone in the room to look at them - each of them wondering privately how they're even alive at all.

But Whumpee is a stubborn one, more so than even they realized. And in those long hours of that night, their skin takes on an eventual light flush, better than the waxy pallour that tinged it before, and their breathing slows and evens, the look of pain on their face calming as they slip into real sleep. But there's tension in the air of that house. Everyone is watching, waiting for this strange guest to open their eyes and reveal themselves to the family that lives there - who has, for all they known, put themselves in danger for taking them in.

[fungalpieceofextras]

Living weapon Whumpee, bloody and barely conscious, trying to drag themself away. Their legs collapse beneath them, and the last thing they see is the enemy approaching before it all goes black.

When Whumpee wakes up, they're expecting a cell. Or restraints, or something. They're very surprised to find themself on a soft bed, wounds cleaned and bandaged, completely unbound.

[fungalpieceofextras]

God, I love tank characters. The fighters. The ones not afraid of getting handed pain or causing it. "I draw the attention to me so they focus on ME and not my teammates 😋"

[fungalpieceofextras]

Whoops

[fungalpieceofextras]

This post is so funny like comment subscribe if you picture your favs bloodied and coughing on the floor and flinching

[fungalpieceofextras]

I heart prey animal rage I love when characters are fucking insane with terror