its-my-whump

[its-my-whump]

Scissors 3

There was a chattering sound somewhere in the distanct. It was like he could practically feel it. But everything felt so far away and... straining.

He was somewhere between hardly awake and deeply asleep and it didn't feel good.

It was hot and cold and kinda wet.

Somewhere in this haze he noticed it was him. A step closer to awakeness he realised, that he was drenched in his own sweat. Shorts and shirt clinging to his body while he was shivering like a leaf actually.

Somewhere inbetween this fog he managed to get up and get to the bathroom. He needed to get ready for work, totally unaware, that it wasn't even 3 am.

There was a thin shivering guy looking back at him in the dim light of the bathroom. Long ago he had lost the connection between the face in the mirrow and himself, if it ever really existed.

But this looked bad. Even though he couldn't recognise the other one, that guy was thin, had lost weight recently. No wonder his teeth were chattering. But he was litterally drenched. The cotton clenched to his thin form. Poor bastard.

But he was too exhausted himself to do more than feel some pity. His leg hurt. It did all the way getting here actually and a look down made him realise, that the bandage was as drenched as himself.

Tbc

My masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Scissors 2

The day was exhausting. His leg felt wrong, but it carried him throughout all the cruel hours.

He was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet in his underpants. A shower was overdue.

The bandage had a little red spot and he felt no urge to lift it, not to see what was under there. He just wanted to forget.

His stupidity, his need to object. This was a reminder, he didn't need. He already felt bad.

Actually this wound was his own fault. He could have prevented it, if he had played by the rules. But some days were just too straining, the influences from outside too overwhelming, so he snapped. Sad some bad words, disagreed or whatever...

He just didn know anymore.

He actually didn't have himself under controll for all he knew by now.

He never cleaned the wound properly, he only put that bandage on. Not the smartest move, he knew. But he wasn't capable of anything more at that moment.

His leg felt warm. He was trying to tell himself, that it was his own bodywarmth, but he wasn't sure.

He felt drained, but he had hardly sleeped and the day was exhausting. But he wasn't sure.

The bandage was gone and his leg looked ugly. Not too bad actually. Still, a hole in your body kinda looks ugly.

3 little pointy wounds actually. Hardly any blood. But his skin was agitated. It look kinda pink. But it was okay.

He wasn't going to suffer more from this little wound then he had to.

It hurt, yes. But it didn't hurt too bad after that long day.

He just felt sour, drained and tired. Nothing to worry about just now.

He took that shower. It was kind of a releave for his strained muscles, but the pain in his leg increased every second water graced his wound.

He managed to dry himself with a big towl.

The disinfection stung... bad. He flinshed and groaned through locked teeth.

The new bandage felt tight, but the tightness brought some releave.

Yet, he felt warm and strained. He stumbled into bed. His leg was throbbing more and more. Sleep didn't come easy. It only slowly tumbled in and took him with after hours and hours. Tomorrow he needed to get back to work. It felt too straining, already.

Even though, he tried to tell himself, feeling so warm and uncomfortable, wasn't too bad, in his guts he already knew, something was off.

[its-my-whump]

Scissors 1

The pain was a dull ache, a constant reminder of his stupidity.

Every step unleashed a sharp sting in his muscle. His leg felt sour and kinda stiff.

The spot, where the scissors had penetrated skin was too present. His fingertips brushed over his pants and the bandage underneath felt thick. At least it wasn't wet.

And still he was on his way to work. The fight last night wasn't a reason not to go.

If he had stayed at home, the punishment would have been worse.

He made it to his desk and a small groan slipped through his lips, when he sank into his chair, taking the weight of his leg.

Shit, he had forgotten about the meeting. So not 10 minutes he was walking again.

The room was much too small for 22 people breathing, sniffling, transpirating and not even a window to get oxygen in or at least natural light. The open door didn't do anything in the range of fresh air or not feeling slammed.

The air was kinda thick and heavy and it was too warm. The moment he realised, that he couldn't take off his jacket, he silently cursed himself. He couldn't, cause the cut would be showing due to the short arms of his t-shirt. At least that one didn't really bother him.

But the muscle in his upper leg throbbed. A headache was forming. This was torture. Almost worse than what happend last night. Still, he didn't know, if he would rather be here or there right now.

He wanted to get up and stretch his legs and yet, he didn't want to put any weight on it. Getting up was bad. He needed to push his hands on the table surface, to get his sour muscle moving at all. Hopefully no one was looking too closely.

Surely the bathroom was one stair down. His knuckles turned white, while he stumbled down the stairs.

Sweat was glistening on his forehead when he finally stepped through the door. A tired face was looking back at him out of the mirrow.

He splashed some cold water against his face. He felt hot. Hopefully it was just from this tiny room, his jacket and the strain from taking the damn stairs.

He hoped so. The scissors weren't cleaned before they enterned his flesh. Blood poisoning was the last thing, he wanted to deal with, on top of all of this.

My masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Tw: implied death, depression, capture, blood, selfharm

The sharp blade cut into his flesh easily. He was intoxicated, so the pain didn't come at first.

The steel had already sliced skin before a brief, but dull pain, that felt too far away, hit him. Blood summoned around the cut. It didn't hurt.

Not really, not as much as his soul did, anyway.

It was unpleased, yes. But so was his -fucked up- life.

It actually felt kinda good. The warmth spreading on his arm. It almost felt, as if someone was holding that arm. He longed for some human touch, for so long.

But all he got was a slap, a fist to his jaw, a prom to his chest. He wanted to feel wanted again.

No, that was an overexaggeration. He just wanted to feel someone else again. Someone, that wouldn't hurt him. Just hold him.

He actually didn't care, if it was a boy or a girl, a slut or a grantpa. He just didn't want to be so alone. He wanted to lay his head on someone's shoulder and just cry about the cruelty of this world, of what was done to him.

But he couldn't. There was no one there for him. He was alone, alone as he ever had been.

No one was looking for him.

He was a lone wolf. Always had been. But he stepped into a bear trap and that was his end.

He knew, he wouldn't leave this place alive anyway. He knew he would never feel the soft touch of another human being before he'd die in here.

Tears were building under his closed lids. He regretted so much at this very moment.

He regretted going away, when things got tough, cause he couldn't take it anymore.

If he had known then, that this was the thing he'd regret the most in the face of death, he'd never left.

If he had know, what he was actually capable of enduring, he'd never thought about leaving.

But it was too late.

Blood was dripping. The blade slipped from his weak hand. At least he would die a free man. Free in his soul, even though, he was caged for weeks. He'd dreamed about her and he was certain to meet her again in the afterlife.

It was the last thought, when his eyes closed one last time and his heartbeat slowed to a constant thud like a clock, that was running low on battery.

My masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Okay, my introduction was outdated... for some time now.

I hit the big 4 a few days ago and while the world is still buring around me, I can't be more happy. My friends, my chosen family, my people, were with me that night. I had a blast getting older, not feeling lost for a few hours.

I also want to say a big thankyou to ALL of you. Humbly I realsied, I have more than 100 followers by now. You guys were there or joining during the last 2 years, when my life got turned upsidedown.

I wish you all the best and encourage some of you to keep a stiff upper lip, even though things may look really shitty just now.

Cause it will get better!

You don't have to, but believing in it, helps to put one foot in front of the other, till you can actually feel the warmth of the sun shining just for you, again!

Thankyou whump community. Cheers.

[its-my-whump]

Medwhumpmay

Day 15: Wisdom teeth removal

@medwhumpmay

He had this appointment for 6 weeks now. He hated the dentist and he was on the edge for 6 weeks by now. So his mood was not the best. He would have never admitted how bad a patient he was. How scared he actually was.

It wasn't really the pain so close to his head, that made him feel uneasy. It was the fact, that a stranger was roaming around in his mouth and he couldn't see or do anything about it. The fact, that someone else's fingers and sharp instruments were there and some little, but powerful machinery was working practically inside his skull... yikes.

No, he really didn't like the dentist at all. The person behind the mask could be the nicest person, he'd meet, but the dentist inside, was still his worst enemy.

So, whumpee wasn't really in the moment, when he made his way downtown to face his opponent.

He was lost in thought, almost missing his station. The doors were about to close, when he squeesed through the last moment bumping into an athletic tall guy.

He mumbled a "I'm sorry, man." and was about to make his way, when a sudden yank on his shoulder pulled him back.

"WHAT?!!" A voice yelled into his ear. His senses were firing by the sudden interruption and he tensed.

He wasn't in the mood for whatever this was. He was on the edge, but not ready for some bullshit right now. The train was leaving, but the hand on his shoulder was still there.

So he looked up, feeling how stupid he must look and said it again, just to avoid losing more time.

The hairs on his neck stood up, as he realised, that there was another guy to his side, clearly belonging to the first.

"I'm sorry, I bumped into you." His shoulders made a slight apologizing twich. The other one's hand let go of his jacket, but brushed over his shoulder like he was brushing of some dust.

From the outside it was a harmless gesture, but the slight touch was not only ment as a humiliation, it was a threat.

"Oh okay. You're a polite guy, then. I forgive you. And maybe, you'd be so polite, as to hand over your purse and phone, right now."

Out of the corner of his eye, whumpee could see something reflecting the light in the second guys hand. A knife, just damn great.

Why today? He had his savings with him to pay the torturer in cash. He wasn't a friend of creditcards or checks, being afraid to lose track of the little money, he had. He was a friend of cash, as were these fuckers.

"No can do." His posture had change from the humble guy, that was sorry, just to avoid trouble, to the selfconsious man, that was standing his ground.

Maybe, his apology had signed him up as a victim. He was cursing himself silently.

"Little man's got a deathwish, I see." The first man was towering over him almost a head bigger. And the other one looked like he was about 2 inches taler, even though, he wasn't standing straight.

Whumpee was keeping both in sight, his obvious attention more on the first, while he replied.

"No, just an appointment, that sucks even more than you two." Before he had finished, he had turned a quarter to his right and punshed the one with the knife straight into his smiling face. The other hand went for the weapon smacking his lose hand to the side. The knife fell and slid over the ground with this distinct sound.

Not a heartbeat too late whumpee duck under the swing from the first, that was coming from behind. His fist hurt, probably as much, as the other one's face.

Still ducked, he spun around and punched the devious one in the nuts. A heavy, painful grunt and all air left the poor bastards lungs, as he fell on his knees.

Whumpee realised the smaller one makingg a dive for the knife a few feet away, he jumped and threw himself onto the body underneath.

His opponent was fast and strong, his hand already reached for the handle of the blade. But whumpee managed to pull at his arm, while he was laying on the other one's back.

An elbow, he hadn't predicted, hit dead center into whumpees jaw.

His teeth hitting onto each other as the hard bone let his own head snap back strongly.

It literally felt his teeth on the left side of his face and he tasted blood. A moment of disorientation and the other guy almost had the knife in hand again. Spontaneously whumpee grabbed a bunsh of the man's hair, pulled his head up and smashed his face into the hard floor a few times.

But suddenly he was grabbed from behind and pulled away from the tall guy. Deflated whumpee had to realise, that everyone else had left the station. It was only them three now.

He wiggled inside the grip around his chest, one arm came lose. The advantage of his hight in comparison to the giant behind, made it possible for whumpee to jump up and ram his head against the big one's jaw from underneath. Another grunt and cry in pain. That guy must have bit his tongue.

Whumpee turned and directly ran his own face into a fist, he wasn't prepared for, or the other way around, actually.

The smaller one was getting to his feet, he imagined by the sound and swears, stars were taking whumpees eyesight for the currant moment.

A good thing, he had an appointment with the dentist jumped into his mind as the taste of blood refreshed on his tongue.

Without another thought whumpee used his shoulder as a ram and just went through the big guy, that holding his chin, blood tickling between his fingers. He practically ran him over as good as possible and literally made a run for the stairs.

Whumpee wasn't going to die because of these two idiots and especially not over a bundle of bills ment for the dentist. No way.

He ran as fast as he could. His rips hurt, his teeth felt lose and his vision was still blurry. But his survival instincts were pushing him forward. He just needed to make it up the stairs. 57th street was busy at this time of days, maybe he could get swallowed by the crowds or they would just let him go. Whumpee wasn't expecting any help from anyone. Still, his chances were better up there.

Footsteps were right behind, fast. Angry grunts and screams, he couldn't make out and didn't want to. He was taking 3 steps at a time.

A sharp sting in his leg all of a sudden. Blunt pain exploded in the bag of his upper right tight. It just went stiff and refused to cooperate. With his body in motion and the upper half pushing forward, his ballancepoint was too far upwards, so couldn't stop what was happening by losing his footing.

Almost unbraked he fell. His hands went up, his knees hit the stairs underneath and his face smashed into the edge of the step, that was just coming up to him much too fast. He felt hard concret connecting with his left cheekbone just before a white hot thunderbolt struck through his skull.

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Medwhumpmay 2025

Day 7 - Dislocation

Day 12 - Migranes

Day 13 - Chronic pain

Day 16 - Wisdom teeth removal

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Medwhumpmay2025 - Day 13

Chronic pain

@medwhumpmay

It was his damn knee. Somedays he actually felt the shrapnel lodging itself deeping in his flesh. It had been almost 10 years. He was about to turn 32 in a few days and he still couldn't get that awful day out of his head or shake the fear and pain it brought.

He was staring into his coffee, as Eli touched his shoulder. His colleague looked concerned. "You okay?"

His face must have given away more than he'd like to share.

"Yeah." He mumbled, not believing it himself. This damn leg was killing him. Sweat had already summened under his hairline, his hands felt clammy, as did his whole body.

Their lunchbreak was almost over and going back to work felt like an unbreachable obstacle. Different voices were ringing in his ears and Eli kept staring at him. He needed a minute, but his stupid leg wouldn't allow him to move.

The pain was getting worse. He felt his body stiffening in comparison to his stiff leg. He felt his body temperature rising even more. Thinking was getting impossible, just a haze of colours and way too many sounds, as his nerve ending were firing waves of agony through his body.

One thought crystalied above all else. His body had started to shake from the strain to keep the pain at bay.

It felt like someone was agonizingly slowly pushing a knife into his knee, cutting down along his shin. His teeth grinded against each other. His jaws were locked tight, he hadn't realised, that his breathing had picked up.

Stiff fingers on a trembling hand reached for this inner pocket. He felt like being stuck under a bolder. He was shaking too much. The agony was manifesting itself in his brain. His leg was burning and felt like an anvil, someone was smashing a hammer on again and again. Every heartbeat felt like another impact.

Cool, strong hands took a hold of his sweaty trembling one's, grounding and calming instantly. He wasn't alone, bleeding out in a dark hole in the desert anymore.

"I've got you." The voice was soothing and the only thing, that came through the haze in his head. He had been found.

Somehow 2 pills slipped through his lips and a glass of water was raised to his mouth. He swallowed strained, his breathing had noticeablely slowed.

The fog in his head was slowly lifting, yet the pain was the same. He wanted to lay down and crawl into a fetus position as much as his leg would let him. He just wanted to shut the world out and flee to a better place, where there were no scars, no trauma, no fear and especially no pain.

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Medwhumpmay Day 12

Migranes

@medwhumpmay

His head was spinning... but this meeting was too important.

The future of this firm was on the line. He wasn't even part of the decisions, but he was too involved in the process. He was just too ambitious and yes, too concerned about his job.

His stomach had flipped more than 3 times last night, but he still crawled out of bed.

He was exhausted and the headache was killing him, still he got through his agonizing morning routine with mostly closed eyes.

The meeting wasn't only needless, it was more than wasted lifetime, for all, he knew and could actually follow.

His brain seemed to be willing to slip out through his ears, but there was no way out and the pressure in his skull kept increasing.

The pulsing sensation was getting worse by the minute. The urge to puke was almost unbearable and his boss was still talking. This damn idiot loved to hear himself talk without telling anything at all.

Andrew couldn't concentrate anymore. He was fighting against his turning stomach and the need to lay down in a dark and quiet room.

But the meeting wouldn't come to an end. He was asking himself, why he had bothered to get up, why he was fearing for this job anyway. And we was swallowing bile.

He couldn't puke in front of all of them. He couldn't stand the embarrassment. He was going to make it. He needed to get through this, even though his head would beg to differ badly.

There was no place for a though anymore, he was just enduring. Hoping, this would find an end, but it didn't.

The presentation had gone blurry a while ago, but now, not a spoken word was making any sense any more.

The taste of bile was getting more and more overwhelming by the minute. He needed to get out.

NOW.

His body made the decision. Weak like a freshly new born he tumbled to his feet. Cold sweat on his whole body. His hands grabed onto the table surface, for some support at least.

Suddenly everything went quiet. So calming quiet, but people stared at him all of a sudden.

He could feel "pieces" running up his tube. It was too late. On unsteady legs he made a run for the restroom. Only muscle memory brought him, where he wanted/needed to go.

A sweaty hand touched the door to the stall, while his shoulder bumbed into it.

The last ressources, he had fired to get here, were gone and he just fell to his knees.

A gush of disgusting liquids came up and out. He was coughing, breathing in strain and wishing, he never left the house this morning.

His body was trembling and he could feel his heart beating in his skull. Every second of being alive was actually making it worse. There were voices, commotion, it was ringing inside his head, but he couldn't tell, where it was coming from or what it was about.

The taste in his mouth was disgusting, the strain in his body was pulling him down. Every last bit of energy was drained by every new uprising. His vision was slowly, but surely faiding.

He was longing for the embrass of unconsciousness, but it wouldn't come. Just another wave of puke. His body shook and the pulsing in his head was even worse. The sounds of rising bile and wimping just mixed into a sad cacophony of pain.

His whole body was shaking and every heartbeat pulsed like a drum in his head. The tiles should have been cold under his knees, as should the pottery under his hands, but it felt like the world was on fire.

It wasn't even puking anymore, just badly burning fluides coming up his pipe. He shook more. There was nothing left to fight. His body was trembling even more, his hands lost the contact to the toilet bowl and he felt his body going slack. The impact of his head hitting the cold and hard tiles didn't reach his attention anymore, as he was out cold already.

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Medwhumpmay Day 7

Dislocation

@medwhumpmay

That felt wrong. He had seen Gerry approaching fast on the field. He had mentally embraced for the impact, but this impact felt wrong. It wasn't that hard, but something was off.

He couldn't only tell by the fact, that his lights went out instantly.

The pain, when be came too was ... bad. Too bad for a usual impact on the field.

Something was very off...

His head was spinning so much, but the pain in his arms, shoulder, neck and chest was much worse.

He couldn't really locate the source of the pain, but it was so damn bad.

A grunt left hisblips, even though he wasn't really around yet. Another grunt and a spasm hijacked his body, while the pain just inflated.

He was trembling and yet, he couldn't think. His right arm felt like it was being seperated from his body. The trembling in pain was actually making the pain even worse. He started to cough. It took everything not to barf. The pain was undiscrible.

Hands were on him. Someone talking. More faces. He was moved and the pain got worse. It seemed not possible, but it just happend. The thrubbing, burning sensation was pushed into the back of his head as a sharp sting took all his attention.

The grunt turned into a high pitched scream for a second, than he just went limb.

The young men's body fell slack, just as they put him on the gurney. His heart was beating fast and steady, his breathing was in order, but he was out like a light.

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril2025

Day25: Too weak to stand

He was holding himself together, barely. Something was wrong. His legs just gave out. So much, he knew.

But he couldn't put a finger on it. Not only to the fact, that he actually couldn't really move his fingers without feeling any pain.

This! fight had been really hard. It was brutal, fast and robbed him of most of senses.

Soccer was not worth all this discomfort and pain, he just realised. But he was literally raised into the life of a hooligan.

Thinking about it just now, he actually hated sports.

But he never had a choice. His stepfather put him here. Those few times, he mentioned his aversion, that creep beat him to hell himself. So, if he couldn't escape this, at least it was much easier to let out his own anger on the 'enemy'.

For the first time a thought crept into his head. 'Maybe, the nose his fist just connected with, belonged to just another poor stepson, that was born into this shit...'

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden pain, that highjacked his stomach again.

He wasn't aware of his own hands pressing down on his belly. Laying on his back only now reached his attention. He lifted his head out of reflex. His palms turned to his eyes just like that. They were bloodstained.

'How did this happened?' He just didn't know.

The thought of being at a soccer game slipped away also.

The pain became unbearable all of a sudden. A groan slipped out of his month and his hands pressed down again, without him realising his bodys reflexes to survive.

Whumpril2025

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2025

Day 16: Waterlogged

Day 17: Interrogation

Day 18: Mood Swings

Day 25: Too weak to stand

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril2025

Day 18: Mood Swings

His blood way boiling. His usual carefulness to keep his head down and mouth shut in the right moments, that had saved his life and ass, was gone.

But boiling blood was good. It was also what kept him alive in here. It was the reason, people usually kept away. But carelessness wasn't good. His senses were firing, but his head wasn't in the game right now.

They revoked his chance for parol. His appointment was canceled with so much as a wet fart for an excuse. 2 years in this shithole and another 6 months before he would even get another chance for a new hearing.

He was keeping it together, merely. He duck away, when it wasn't his business and his lifesaving rage spiked, when it needed to.

He had smacked the head of a guy in, put his fingers into someone eyesocket and broke a few bones. Mostly without the guards really noticing or caring about his envolvement. He had spent his own share of time in the med wing. So it was making no sense, that they canceled his hearing without a heads-up.

He was poking with his plastic fork in some undefinable snot on his plate lost in thoughts and anger. Some of the shy ones were taking fearful glaces and looked away. But his attitude was like an invitation, for those who couldn't stand him, especially with backup. For those with a blind eye, a limb or a scar.

No one got his six, except himself. Not being alert 100% could be like a deathsentence in here.

He was furious and could hear his own heart beating up to his neck. Ahab suddenly appeared in his field of vision. Sitting himself in front of whumpee on the other side of the table. He had no idea, what this fuckface actually was called. He called him Abah, cause with his eye patch he looked like a pirate. Okay, Ahab wasn't one, but he was a sailor and that was close enough for whumpee's taste.

And he - whumpee - was the reason for that missing eye. Even though that day, he almost killed a guy, took this assholes eyeside away and a room full of blood and a handfull of more or less badly injures guys, himself included, made sure, no one was ever trying to jump him in the showers again.

Today was a different story. His mood wasn't rising, when that ugly mug appeared in front of him. Even though, he was burning with rage, the hairs on his neck stood formation and an uneasy feeling was creeping up his spin. Someone was behind him too. Or more someones actually.

Ahabs stubby fingers reached over his plate and took the only thing, what looked like one could actually eat. Slowly that piece of bread was taken to Ahabs mouth.

Whumpee let go of the platic fork and rose his head a bit, so his angry eyes took a hold of his counterpart.

"Put it back!" He thundered in a low growl.

"Or what?" Ahab smilled and took a bite.

In a heartbeat whumpee was on his feet. The tray smacked Ahabs head to the side. A loud thud, food flew through the room and spred all of the other guy, table and bench. Whumpee turned in one smooth motion and smashed the tray against the next man behind him. He dugged under a swing from the third, but wasn't fast enough for the big paw of the second one with the remains of his lunch on his face. The fist found a target in whumpees stomach. He jackknifed and the third man grabbed him from behind. He was fixated in a headlock. The second man was a big guy, too much muscle for his hight and he punched again. All air left whumpees lungs and the arm around his neck got tighter.

Ahab had come back to his feet. He looked ridiculous with all the snot on his head and clothes, but not harmless.

He gave his guys a nod. His one good eye was angry, and the smile deadly. Whumpee felt the guy, that was holding him, shift. But the moment realisation hit, it was too late.

He couldn't see, just feel the makeshift knife entering his body somewhere around his left kidney. Many, too many fast and blunt hits into his flesh. The pain hit as fast, as the knife. White stars danced over his vision.

A brief moment of helplessness, the wish to give up and just let go, swiped over whumpee. It would be so easy right now. All of this could be over in mere moments. Whumpee would be free again.

A heartbeat later, his survival instincts kicked in. He wasn't gonna die in the shithole. Not alone anyway.

Ressources, no clue where they came from, unleashed, as did his fury.

His teeth sank into the arm right in front of his face and his jaws clenched until he tasted blood. The man holding him was screaming in his ears. He could hardly hear with all his own blood rushing through his head.

A piece a flesh separated from the mans arm and so did they. Whumpee was pushed away and stumpled forward. Bye a shere miracle, he kept himself upright, while he spite a part of the other mans arm out.

This man was screaming, holding his bloody arm. And whumpee just looked like a maniac. Blood was running down his face. Not his own. His right side tainted in red. The orange jumpsuit looked like it was a requisite from a horror movie. He ignored the second guy staring at him from the side and directly aimed for Ahad. He jumped over the tabel and went for the small mans head. Both tumbled down to the ground.

"Fuck you." Whumpees fingers dug into Ahabs healty eye and he began to lift his opponents head with his hands and smashed his skull into the hard ground. Ahab was screeming and kicking under him. His hands screwed themselves around whumpees neck. But whumpee was lost in his fury. He would take this fucker with him, when he was to die here.

He felt his strength ebbing away, while he was mercilessly hitting Ahabs head into the ground. Blood was already spreading on the floor.

There was turmoil all around, but whumpee didn't care.

Someone grabbed him under his armpits and pulled him away. Not a guard, because he was just thrown to the side and left there. His strength, the rage, his survivals skills faded away, as his back hit the ground. It could only have been seconds, but the cold of the floor seemed to be crawling inside of whumpee all too fast. He was breathing strained, no he was panting, but only shallow. His world was upside down and blurry, the edges fading away. There was no fight in him at all.

A big bloob above him, or more. He knew someone was talking, but it was just an instinct, not a realisation.

Someone put pressure on his wounds. Pain fired through his venes. A painful grunt slipped away, just before his consciousness did.

[its-my-whump]

2 years in the whump community. 🥹

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril2025

Day 17: Interrogation

His head was in a haze. The world around him, spinning. He couldn't tell, what was up and what was down. A slight groan excaped his lips, when his consciousness finally arrieved in the here and now. The presence wouldn't stop spinning, though. He pressed his eyes close, all was blurry anyway. But everything kept moving inside his head.

Another groan let his vocal chords vibrate. Hot stiff fingers slid over a cool metal surface. It was kinda grounding. Or at least it gave his senses something to work with, while his brain was desperately trying to move out of his skull.

His breath was labored and his heart was beating up to his neck.

Coming to and being catapulted into some kind of panic attack wasn't favorable for his spinning head.

He tried to move, get upright. The urge to puke was overwhelming. Despite his weak state, the stiffness and pain, that suddenly seemed to come from every fibre of his body, his hands came to an abrupt stop. Thick restrains kept him where he was. His eyes flew open, as realisation hit him like the stinging slap he just received to his face.

It burned, but much worse was the earpiercing ringing, that came with the explosion of pain in his skull.

He tasted blood. The bitter taste was there all the time, but suddenly he could identify it, for what it was. For a brief second, he was aware of his bettered body being straped to the metal table. He was aware of his pulsing broken leg, his wet clothes and the stream of half dried blood in his face and down his neck.

Another slap and everything exploded in a haze of light and dark, all consuming agony highjacked him. A scream disloged from his throat, when someone dug their fingers in the wound on his abdomen.

"Care to join us again? Have you finally changed your mind or do we have to start over?"

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2025

Day 16: waterlogged

He couldn't stand the wetness anymore. He couldn't put one food in front of the other anymore, but his feet were still moving.

His hands graced the river, he was waiding through.

He was cold, but the shivering didn't reach his mind anymore. His legs felt like jello and still they just moved. Not that he had any active doing in it.

He stumbled.

This time, he wasn't able to stop his fall. His head dipped under water and all his senses were fired immidately. Being so tried and worn out, was blown away the moment his brain was deprived of vital air.

His eyes, that were on half mast for the last hour, flew open. But the muddy water was dark and stung in his eyes. He struggled, feet kicking. They found some footing and he was hardly able to push himself above the water. Gasping for air, his head slowly understood what just happenend.

He stumbled forward, hands digging into the muddy ground, trying to lift himself up. But he just kept on stumbling. His knee connected with a pointy stone and he felt his skin break. The pain was blunt and fierce. Gasping for air just brought him a mouth full of muddy liquid. He coughed and gasped more. The taste in his through was disgusting. He coughed and trembled, while trying to find his footing. But he just couldn't. He stumbled to his right, trying to reach the side of the river, but in vain.

His head dipped under water again. He was just too tired. He couldn't, he couldn't fight anymore. His legs gave out one last time. He swallowed more muddy stuff. Coughing under water made it worse. He was going to die here. Right now.

That was so pathetic. He made it through 3 days of firing and duking in the midest of war, but he was going to drown in a fucking sidearm of the amazonas.

"Fuck me." Rushed through his head, when he realised, that he was about to take his last breath. He was just too weak and tired to give it another try. His rifle was already lost some time ago. So he couldn't even lose it, to increase his chances to resurface by losing weight.

All he saw, was dark brown. The sun was mercyless shining, so it was a muddy brown under water. He swallowed another gulp of stinking liquid.

This was it.

Yes, great. He made it out of hell, just to die by drowing. If it should end like this, well fuck.

He was too tired, too worn out. His last fight died with his last unefficent breath.

He gulped helplessly, feeling the last of life leaving him. His being was soaked out by the amazon.

His vision narrowed. He was already feeling his life being sucked away, not to ever be restored, when something -out of nowhere- appeared under his armpits and pulled him up.

[its-my-whump]

Whumptober2024

Left for dead

Sam didn't know what hit him. But he knew, that he wasn't coming back from this one.

Nat had made sure.

But he actually wasn't sure, if he caught a bullet or an arrow. Could be anything, that had lodged itself in his intestines. His hands were numb and the tingling of losing all the rest of his feelings was spreading fast.

So there was no use to press his fingers into the bloody wound, even if he still had some control over his extremities.

He couldn't even feel the sticky blood on his fingers.

The pain was almost gone, but the picture of Nat lauging, when he looked down at him and said his goodbyes was just as painful, as the rest of his body had felt moments before.

Yet it also felt like a memory from a long time ago, when his vision narrowed and his mind slipped into all consuming blackness.