#anxiety whump

[whump-or-whatever]

Non-verbal Anxiety/Stress Indicators

For all those whumpees who try to hide how they're feeling from others or might not even realize themselves what they're feeling.

Wringing hands

Tapping/shaking foot or leg

Rubbing hand along leg or arm

Fidgeting with sleeve/zipper/loose string/etc.

Body-focused repetitive behaviours (twirling hair, biting nails, picking at skin, etc.)

Pacing/rocking/inability to sit still

Tapping fingers

Touching/rubbing face

Holding on to a comforting item

Darting eyes

Positioning oneself with back to wall/facing door

Looking around for potential exists/sources of danger

Staring unseeingly into the distance

Trying to make oneself seem smaller (slouching, crossed arms, curling up, leaning on something, etc.)

Angling body away from others

Avoiding eye contact

Tense facial features (clenched jaw, furrowed brow, pursed lips etc.)

Stiff body and posture

Cold hands/chills

Clammy hands/sweating

Numbness in extremities/chest pain

Being unresponsive/unable to speak

Quick shallow breathing/difficulty getting a full breath

Paler than usual complexion

Feel free to add any others y'all can think of!

[rizzoto-whump]

Military whump, but the focus is on civilians:

Whumpee watches helplessly as their once-peaceful town is ripped apart by bombs and gunfire, struggling to accept that life will never be the same again.

As the war wages on, Whumpee feels an immense sense of helplessness as they are unable to do anything to protect their loved ones.

As supplies become scarce, Whumpee witnesses the slow deterioration of their once close-knit community as neighbors turn against each other in desperate attempts to survive.

As the death toll rises, Whumpee becomes numb to the constant tragedy, struggling to feel anything at all.

The constant barrage of explosions and gunfire invade Whumpee's dreams, blurring the line between the waking world and terrifying nightmares.

Envy and bitterness consume Whumpee as they gaze upon a photograph of their old classmates, untouched by the devastation of war, enjoying a simple day at the beach.

[castlehillwhump]

Anxiety Attack Whump/Comfort

I found this in one of my whump inspo docs and lowkey loved it. I added a bit and polished it, but wanted to share.

He’s wound so tight that she can feel the waves of anxiety radiating off him like a physical presence. He’s bent over in his chair, every wrinkle in his clothes exposed in the light from the fluorescent bulb that hangs over their kitchen table. He’s got his head in his hands, and she can hear his breathing from across the room. She makes her way over to him softly. When he’s like this, there isn’t much that will bring him comfort, but she’s dealt with him like this before, more times than she can count, and if anyone can offer him any sort of relief, it’s her.

As she gets closer, he looks up at her, eyes wide and red, breath coming in tiny pants. She reaches out a hand to run her fingers through his hair, taking care to move her hand slowly, letting him track her fingers as they near him. His hair is slightly damp, his scalp burning with heat, and she slowly works through the tangles. His head ever so slightly relaxes into her touch and he lets out the tiniest sigh. She steps closer, and he presses his forehead into her chest. She can feel now that he’s trembling against her, and she feels the beginning of an ache take up residence in her throat. She pulls his head into her, and he wraps his arms around her legs, breathing in her scent, practically clinging to her. She strokes his hair, letting him hold onto her as long as he needs.

His breathing gradually slows from sporadic gasps to a more even rhythm. She wants to know what happened today to send him into this state, but she knows not to press. Not now. Eventually, some of the tension begins to melt out of his neck. She marvels at how physical it is, how clearly she can see as he slowly unclenches each tiny muscle in his shoulders. At some point, when his breathing is more regular and his body looser, he untangles himself from her and rubs a hand down his face. When he looks up at her, his expression is so open, so vulnerable, that she almost pulls him back to her. She watches all of his emotions flit across his features, relief, gratitude, shame.

“Thank you,” he finally says, his voice raw. 

She takes his hand and pulls him to his feet. “Let’s watch a movie.”

[whump-cravings]

Tortured Prince - A Moment's Respite

Tortured Prince AU Masterlist - TR3 Masterlist

1.5k words | Original Work: Tortured Prince (AU of TR3). Set pre-escape, after Dead Man's Tears and before Ritual

Content: Royal whump, caretaking (for real this time, but not as much as he deserves), shame over scars, anxiety over choices/being away from whumper

"You always bring me the nicest things," a woman's sardonic voice came from before Baltar.

Venja's familiar touch carded through Baltar's hair. "Where would you like him, my lady?"

The woman stood and stepped forward, her fingers wrapping around Baltar's chin to tilt his face up. Despite his confusion, he knew better than to resist. His mind felt elsewhere as he went pliant in the woman's hands. She examined him with some mixture of disgust and hate. A circlet rested on her head.

Even in his state, Baltar could put together who this was: Ochvlita, Queen of Beor.

She dropped his chin, her fingernails raking against his skull as she ran them through his unkempt hair. "Take him to Alor. She'll know what to do with this mess. Then ready him in his chambers for my use."

I'm ... not being killed. The bag had only been concealing him. He let out a breath, and tears slipped out. He wasn't sure whether they were from dread or relief or sheer exhaustion.

He could feel Ochvlita's eyes on him. "You did wonderfully with him, Venja. Well done."

Venja preened, bowing. "It was my pleasure, my lady. I'll have his highness prepared."

Baltar felt as if in a daze as Venja refitted the bag and pulled him back to his feet. He shuffled along compliantly, weariness weighing him down more with each step. His sedentary rut had atrophied his body, and he was lightly winded by the time they arrived at their destination.

A damp heat curled against his skin, smoke and fragrance on the air, as they stepped through a doorway. Baltar was granted his sight again and he found himself in a tiled room with a lavish inset bath A smoking woman sat on a chair before a vanity with a young man at her side.

"Dovche's balls," she swore upon seeing Baltar. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

Venja shrugged. "Clean him up."

The woman, presumably Alor, held a hand to her forehead in consternation. "Alright," she sighed, taking a long drag from her smoke. "Alright. Time to work." She twisted and snuffed the pipe out.

"I'll help," Venja said.

"No," Alor said, standing up. "Uncuff him and wait outside."

Baltar's heart thudded painfully and he went still, barely breathing. One did not refuse Venja.

Venja scowled. "He's under my supervision."

"I cannot work with your positively turgid aura hanging about," Alor proclaimed dramatically, squaring up against the man. She held out a slender hand. "The key, if you'd be so kind—or would you like to explain to our queen why her wishes have been delayed?"

Scowl etched deeper, Venja reluctantly produced a key. Alor's long fingers plucked it from his hand. "Far be it from me to interrupt with my turgid-ness," he said. "I'll be right outside."

Venja stepped out, leaving Baltar alone with strangers. Between the removal of physical support and the unknowns of the situation, he felt the loss of his chaperone keenly. He leaned his weight onto his right leg as his left knee's ache increased.

"What a loathsome man," Alor muttered under her breath, then turned a critical eye on the mess before her. "Now, darling, your hands." She took Baltar's hands, removing the chain linking them. She held it off to the side while still holding Baltar's left hand, and the unknown young man stepped forward to take it from her.

"Fingers are crooked," she murmured, taking his right hand for comparison while frowning. "Hm. Nothing to be done for it. Let's get you out of these clothes and into the bath." She pulled him by the hand.

Baltar followed her anxiously in a shuffling limp. The result of her command was clear enough but did she want him to undress himself or...?

"Can you—do you want—?" the young man asked, gesturing to Baltar's clothes.

Tears welled up in Baltar's eyes and a tremble ran through him. Venja made the decisions, and Venja wasn't here, and Baltar had no way to signal him, or tell these people the arrangement.

A long moment passed before Alor said, "Alright... well. Olire, undress him. Gently now."

As Alor took the decision away, Baltar let out a shaky breath of relief. Olire nodded and stepped forward, hands only a little hesitant to strip Baltar. The man froze when he saw Baltar's scarred torso. Alor took in a sharp breath as well.

His throat choked with tears again as they looked at his ruined body, hands shaking at his sides. The shame he had believed stripped from him still lurked there, waiting for new eyes.

Alor cleared her throat and Olire nodded at the unspoken order. He helped Baltar undress entirely, then wrapped a long rectangle of off-white fabric about his waist, presumably for modesty. Olire and Alor shucked their outer clothes as well, and were left in similar attire.

They guided Baltar into the bath. His foot slipped on the first step, but Olire and Alor caught him, supporting him the rest of the way.

Blissful heat enveloped him as he gratefully sank onto a bench beneath the water. Everything instantly felt lighter, and a content sigh escaped him.

"Cleaning time," Alor said, and the two of them began to work. Olire took Baltar's arms while Alor started at his head, collecting water in a basin and dumping it over him. Their ministrations, while brusque and efficient, had a gentleness he hadn't felt in an eternity; Baltar melted into their touch, particularly as Alor massaged lavender-scented soap into his scalp.

He flinched as Olire went over his ribs and his most recent scars, still painful to the touch. Olire started, hands falling from Baltar. "Sorry," the assistant murmured, using the softest touch to clean that area. Slowly, Baltar eased back into relaxation.

Once he was clean and rinsed off, Alor guided him into a chair. She combed through his hair, scissors at the ready. Meanwhile, Olire filed and buffed nails.

As bits of hair fell on Baltar's naked shoulders, an overwhelming heaviness weighed on him once more and tears slipped out. The man in the mirror, hollow and gaunt, was an ugly, wretched thing. Prince. What an ill-fitting name.

Alor dropped some oil onto his head, spreading it with a comb before using a hand towel to soak up the extra and tousle his reinvigorated hair. "That's better," she murmured, sweeping his shoulders clean with a soft-bristled brush. She paused afterwards, a couple of fingers tracing a thick scar. "Venja never oiled these or massaged them, did he?"

Baltar blinked and looked up at her, surprised to have been asked a question. Confused, he shook his head.

Alor's lips pursed and she set her tools down, glaring at the door. "Of course he wouldn't do something that doesn't directly benefit him," she muttered. "Then again, I wouldn't expect that troglodyte to know such things."

Olire caught Baltar's confusion, and explained, "The mistress asks because oil and massage can soften and flatten scars, which improves the look."

"More importantly in this instance, it frequently decreases stiffness and pain," Alor added, frowning. "I'll speak to Vian."

"The palace physician," Olire said for Baltar's benefit.

"But that won't be tonight," Alor sighed. She fetched a neatly folded bundle of clothes and set them in Baltar's hands. "Go ahead and dress."

Baltar complied slowly, the construction of the clothes not entirely familiar to him and his fingers struggling with dexterous tasks. Olire stepped in to help, and soon the prince was clad. The clothes improved his reflection somewhat, hiding his frail frame and the scars upon it. The clothes were roughly his size, but not incredibly flattering as they were not tailored to him.

"That's all we can do for tonight," Alor said, a hand resting on Baltar's shoulder. She glanced towards the door, hesitating before she looked at the prince through the mirror again. Quietly, she asked, "Would you like to stay here a little longer?"

The words caught Baltar by surprise, and he unintentionally met the woman's gaze in the mirror. The offer of a moment's respite wasn't much, and he could tell that she recognized that, but even the thought of kindness after so much cruelty was... overwhelming.

He hunched over, covering his eyes with a hand as jumbled emotions rose up within him. Do not ask this of me, was all he could think. She didn't understand what she was asking, for him to... to make that kind of decision, to actively decide to desire—to revive that part of him that was defiant, the part that did not yield to whatever Venja wanted of him.

Alor sighed above him, and he heard a striker. He looked up to find her taking a pull on her now-lit pipe. "He sure fucked you up good, huh?" She shook her head, blowing out a curl of smoke. "Motherfucker."

"Mistress?" Olire asked uncertainly.

She shook her head. "Nothing we can do, kid. Go tell Venja to come get him."

A moment later saw Venja's return to Baltar's side. He immediately ruffled Baltar's hair, as if to reclaim ownership over the things that had changed. Baltar leaned into the touch, anxiety abating with the familiar presence.

taglist: @nabanna @emcscared-whumps​ @nicolepascaline​ @i-can-even-burn-salad​ @melennui​​ @thecyrulik​​

[bltzgore]

show me your anxiety-riddled ocs I need them for science

Oh there are so so many XD

I'll keep it to 7 of my favorites, and do my best to keep these short but still give enough background.

Tw: nonhuman characters, mentions of burning and family death, learning disability related stress, lab rat content, and dehumanizing circumstance for nonhuman characters such as being owned or abused

Fear not, I threw in a little fluff

Among the ones I go after the most:

Rook - a scrapy fierce little creature, who's response to fear is anger. He's always afraid, always worried this fleeting period of freedom with his found family will end, or later on as he develops more self awareness, that they will get sick of him and abandon him. This manifests as him getting frustrated easier, snapping at people, and occasionally just going after them. Luckily his caretaker is an ex gladiator, and an ex hit woman, so she can take it.

Enzo - a member of the same cast as Rook. He came from very dehumanizing circumstance before he got sold off. He is a people pleaser because that's how he learned to survive. So at first he was pretty nervous around his rescuer/caretaker, but that wore off pretty quickly. He took to worry about her and the others in their found family, that they'd get hurt, or found (they're on the run) not to mention he harbors alot of insecurity, very low self worth. This is something the caretaker helps amend, as she doesn't want to see him get hurt or taken advantage of.

One of my favorite symbolic demonstrations of his healing over time is his singing. Hear me out. He's a siren type creature, so he loves to sing, he's meant to. But the people who own him before punish him for it for various reasons. The longer he spends with caretaker the stronger his voice gets, it starts out with gentle songs, and moves up to powerful rock lyrics and stuff depending on his mood.

Cam (or Rally, I'm having a hard time picking a name) - a fire elemental in a world where elementals are considered highly dangerous. His family helps him hide it, but one day a fire starts in his house (he believes he started it while he was sleeping). In his fear he accidentally makes it much worse, and his parents do not make it out. He's stuck in the house in a state of panic and fear and general mourning because he can't process that his fire is just what took his family, when his caretaker to be (another elemental named Rafiki/Rafi/Raf) runs in to save him. From then on he's deeply scared that he will hurt someone again, or worse.

Thing is, we learn that he wasn't the original cause of the fire. It was an agent of the government hoping to send him into a panic. When Cam discovers this, he goes after them, getting caught and put under the control of this mind control device called the halo (its a metal ring that is affixed to the head). Then, he is forced to go after his friends. He burns Rafiki severely enough that it even gives her trauma.

Rex - a post-wolf (meaning after wolf, not one who works with mail) supersoldier. Who develops high levels of anxiety around his technical studies when he struggles with reading due to dyslexia and adhd.

Static - a very sweet bean who is among the first humans to begin developing superpowers in one of my universes due to the presence of an alien virus on earth. He's in the army when he begins developing powers, the army that advocates for killing or catching such people. He is terrified that he will be the next one dragged off to some black ops base and pulled apart like some lab rat. He finds a group of others who are hiding their powers and they do a great job protecting and hiding each other.

But one day he comes crawling back to base to get the medic while having a broken leg. The medic tends to him, then runs off to rescue his friends. But this is about the time that the higherups have put together a few things. They show up and drag him off. It is his nightmare realized. And of course his friends find and save him, but he certainly had anxiety before, it is tripped after, he has a severe case of ptsd.

Taboo - is a scorpion humanoid, he named himself as such because he thought he was just unlucky when he was little and didn't realize people were afraid of him. He is an absolute cinnamon roll (who could kill you.) And the thought of people being scared of him makes him occasionally to nervous to act and really really sad (poor boi).

Flux - Flux does not remember what he used to be. He was sure he used to have flesh parts instead of metal ones but he doesn't anymore. He is a rescued lab rat, who was pulled apart and put back together so much his trauma response became appease. So even after rescue he constantly fears that he will do something wrong, and wind up back on that table. Thing is, he could never figure out what the criteria was that got him back there at the lab, and th le rules with these new people make even less sense!

I hope this helped with your science 😁

[here-as-a-human]

Somebody write a fic!!!

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

The Grand A-Z List of Whump 1/3

This list contains ~290 items listed A to H

As always, I heavily encourage people to research topics thoroughly when writing. Whump is generally a 'dead dove' sort of topic, however it is important to avoid stereotypes/misinformation. This lists intention is to not glorify/romanticise sensitive topics in any way.

This part one-of-three comprehensive lists of injuries, Illnesses and tropes - including those from the Whumptober 2023 trope vote!

All submissions are listed in italics, and those who wanted to be tagged will be included at the end. If you have any more submissions: please send them via DM/my ask box.

[I-Q] [R-Z] [NSFW List]

List below the cut:

#

"I don't need your help."

"I'm doing this to make you better"

"I'm fine, take care of them!"

“I’m Fine”

"Kill me instead"

"Let me in."

"Look at me."

"Should I know you?"

"Take me instead."

(No) Anaesthetic

A

A Good Ol' Sickfic

Abandoned

Abdominal Pain

Aching Wounds

Acne

Adrenaline Crash

Adrift (in space/at sea)

Agoraphobia

Airsickness

Alien abduction

Allergies

Alopecia

Ambulance Ride

Ambush

Amnesia/memory loss

Amputations

Anaemia

Anesthesia

Angina (Heart condition that causes pain)

Animal Attack/Bite

Ankle Sprain

Anthrax

Anxiety/Anxiety attack(s)

Aphasia

Appendicitis

Arrested

Arthritis

Asking for help

Asphyxiation

Assumed Dead

Asthma/Asthma Attack

Auctions

Autoimmune disease

Avalanches

B

Backache

Bad Caretakers

Bandaged Head

Banished

Barbed Wire

Bear trap

Beaten up by ex-friends

Beaten with blunt object (i.e, bat or pipe)

Beatings

Bedrest

Bedside Vigil/Hospital Vigil

Begging

Betrayed by close friend/team/family

Bites (Animal, Bug, Human….)

Biting

Black Eye

Blackmail

Bleeding Out

Bleeding Through

Bandages

Blindfolded

Blindness (this could be temporary or permanent)

Blisters

Blood Loss

Blood Poisoning

Bloodied Knuckles

Bloodstains/blood trail

Bloody handprints

Bloody nose

Blunt force trauma

Blurred vision

Body modification

Body Sharing

Body Switching

Bounty on their head

Brain Damage

Brainwashing

Breakdowns

Breathless

Bridal Carry

Broken Bones (Ribs, Arm, Leg)

Broken Nose

Broken Promises

Bronchitis

Bruises

Building Collapse

Bullet Removal

Bumpy roads jarring injuries

Buried Alive

Burning Building

Burns/Scalding

Busted kneecap

C

Cancer

Caning

Capgras syndrome/delusion (belief that someone close to/important to the person has been replaced by an imposter)

Capsulitis

Captivity

Captured

Car chases (and maybe a car crash)

Carbon monoxide poisoning

Cardiac Arrest

Caretaker has to “play nice” with whumper.

Caretaker has to hurt whumpee while undercover.

Caretaker sacrificing something dear to them to get something the whumpee needs.

Caretaker turned Whumpee

Caretaker-whumper who's a parental whumper. But their "love" is not real love. Or even right treatment.

Carsickness

Cataracts

Catatonia

Caught in a fire

Caught in an explosion

Cauterization

Cave In

Cavity

Celebrity whump (exploitation in the music/movie industries…)

Chaffing from ropes/handcuffs/shackles

Chained/Shackled

Checking for injuries

CHF - congestive heart failure

Chicken Pox

Chills

Chloroform

Choking

Chronic pain

Claustrophobia

Cleaning wounds alone

Cold/Flu,

Collapsed Lung

Collapsing (into someone’s arms is usually nice, bonus points for cradling their head as they lower the whumpee to the floor)

Collapsing after they win

Collapsing/Fainting/Passing Out

Collars

Coma

Comfort after a nightmare

Common cold

Completely betrayed by their own team

Complications

Concussion

Confusion

Constipation

Constricted Airways

COPD - Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease makes breathing increasingly more difficult.

Corporal Punishment

Corset too tight and won’t unbutton

Coughing

Coughing Up Blood

CPR

Cramps

Crikes (intubation through neck)

Crush injury

Crying

Cuddle pile

Curses

Cuts/Grazes

Cutting off hair (more of an emotional hurt)

Cyanide poisoning

D

Damaged Larynx/Vocal Cords

De-aging

Deathbed Confessions (don’t have to actually die and stay dead, just the threat of dying)

Defeat

Defenestration (throwing out a window)

Dehydration

Deja Vu

Delirium (bonus points for this being drug/ fever induced)

Deluded whumper/thinking they’re helping the whumpee

Dengue Fever

Denial

Depression

Dermatitis

Diabetes (type 1 and 2)

Diarrhea

Diseases ('mystery' diseases are the best kind)

Dislocations

Disorientation

Disowned by Family

Displaced hip

Dissociation

Distress call

Dizziness

Dragged Away

Dream sequence

Driving to the hospital with a whumpee slumped barely-conscious in the seat of the car

Drowning

Drunkenness

E

Ear Infection

Edema (swelling from build up of fluid)

EKG

Electrical Burns

Electrical shock

Electrocution

Emergency field surgery

Emergency Surgery

Emotional angst

Emotional manipulation

Endometriosis

Enemy to Caretaker

Energy Drain

Environmental whump

ER

Execution

Exes reunited with one wanting a relationship and the other just wanting friendship.

Exhaustion

Experimentation

Exposure

Extreme Weather

Eye injury

F

Facing Phobias

Failed Escape

Failure to thrive

Fainting

Fainting (but also fainting aftermath) / Fainting due to lack of sleep, food, or overworking fainting from exhaustion

Falling

Falling for Caretaker/Whumpee/Whumper

Falling Through Ice

Fatigue/Exhaustion

Fever

Fibromyalgia (Chronic Pain)

Field medicine

Fighting (while injured)

Financial difficulty faced + how whumper might take advantage of that + how caretaker handles everything (well/badly)

Finding your loved one dead without explanation but thinking they’re still alive.

Fireman's carry

Flare ups

Flashbacks

Flinching away

Flu

Food Poisoning

Forced to... (Break out, Choose, Hurt, Kneel, Scream, Watch)

Forehead kisses

Forgotten by team

Foul-tasting medicine

Found family

Found unconscious

Fracture (Arm, Hyoid bone etc)

Freezing / cold whump

Friendly Fire

Frostbite

G

Gagged/Muzzled

Gangrene infection

Gaslighting

Gas (noxious, poisonous etc)

Gastritis

Glass (shards, debris etc)

Grief

Gunshot Wound

H

Hair Pulling/Cutting/Matting/Stroking

Hallucinations

Hanahaki

Handcuffs

Handgag

Hard ground

Haunted

Hay Fever

Head injuries/concussion

Head trauma

Headache/Migraine

Heart Palpitations

Heartburn

Heat Exhaustion

Heatstroke

Heavy metal poisoning

Held at gunpoint/knifepoint/weapon point

Hematohidrosis (Sweating blood)

Hemophilia/Hematophilia (Blood unable to clot)

Haemothorax

Hernia

Hidden Illness/Injury/Scar/Medical Issues

Hiding

High Blood Pressure

High Fever (like dangerously high)

High Pain Tolerence

Hit by a car

Home Sickness

Hospital Codes

Hostage Situation

House burnt down

Huddling for Warmth

Human Shield

Human Weapon

Hunger

Hungover

Hunted for Sport

Hurt no comfort

Hyperalgesia,

Hypermobility

Hyperventilating

Hypo/Hyperthermia

Hypo/Hyperthyroidism

Hypoglycemia

Hypotension/ Hypertension

Hypoxia

TAG LIST: Thank you very much to the following people for submitting ideas! (I apologise if some tags did not work, I'm not sure why tumblrs not letting me tag you!)

@I-eat-worlds | @greygullhaven | @letsgowhump | @cyberwhumper @firapolemos05 | @originaldeerhottub | @whumpilicious | @drawing-dinos82 | @carenrose | @stellarinuscronicles | @gottheseasonalblues | @marvelflame2010 | @sowhumpful | @avamcu | @courtneygacha | @lordofthewhumps | @autismmydearwatson | @kuddelmuddell | @the-most-handsome-ginger | @whirls-and-swirls | @painsandconfusion

[whumpberry-cookie]

A cute little recovery detail:

Whumpee deals with the anxiety by sitting down on the floor. So when they have sensory overload in public spaces, they need to sit down and breathe to ground themselves.

So Caretaker sits down with them too, so they don't feel embarassed by doing it alone.

[justbreakonme]

Most people find listening to the sound of falling rain relaxing.

Most people.

Not him.

He had spent too many nights huddled under awnings and tucked under bridges, unable to avoid the water that soaked him and what little he had to the skin.

Wet shoes and socks meant being barefoot, too numb with cold to notice he was stepping on broken beer bottles along the road. Wet clothes meant that he had only hours to find somewhere, anywhere to get warm or dry before he would get sick, really sick.

He wasn’t there, anymore.

He was safe.

He was home.

But that didn’t mean the sound of falling rain didn’t fill him with a bone deep sense of dread.

She didn’t understand exactly; she knew she’d been lucky enough to never associate the sound of rain with anything other than staying indoors. But she understood enough.

Warm blankets and dry socks found their way into his lap while the whistle of the kettle drowned out at least a little of the noise.

She’d close the curtains and put a movie on, loud enough that he could almost forget until the next crack of thunder would make him jump.

He didn’t hide under storefront umbrellas or overpasses anymore, but he did tuck himself further under her arm, as if out of habit, even now.

They both silently hoped that one day, the rain would be just rain. But until then, they’d wait out the storm together, in dry socks.

[wisteria-whump]

gimme a whumpee who was wearing a hoodie/other article of clothing of caretaker's when they were captured and when the hoodie finally loses caretaker's scent it destroys whumpee more than anything whumper does to them 🫶

[whump-or-whatever]

Got any whumps for a workaholic?

I may have some ideas… 🤔

Not getting any sleep either cause they’re busy doing work or they’re too stressed to sleep

Lack of sleep=bags under the eyes, easily confused, headaches, etc.

They either forget to eat or are so anxious about work they don’t feel hungry

Lack of food=chills, lightheadedness, shakiness, potential for fainting, etc.

Shaky hands could mean slip-ups such as spilling coffee, accidentally cutting or burning themself in a lab, and so on

When someone is overworked they don’t operate at peak capacity, so they could end up making a mistake that costs lives (eg. Doctor mixing up patient charts), which results in hella guilt

Workaholic emerging from their workspace after being cooped up for a long time and squinting into the sun, shielding their eyes

Not keeping up with hygiene

Chugging coffee or energy drinks until they’re jittery and yet can still hardly keep their eyes open

Caretaker(s) trying to convince them to take care of themself and get some rest, to no avail

Maybe eventually caretaker(s) has to intervene by force, drag the workaholic away from their task kicking and screaming

Caretaker(s) finding the workaholic collapsed on the floor of their workspace

Maybe they’re using their work to distract themself from other issues

Falling asleep at their work table, resulting in back pain and sore joints/muscles

Increased stress levels could result in anxiety attacks, mental effects from long term exposure to anxiety such as depression, and physical symptoms of anxiety

Deteriorating relationships with the people workaholic cares about as they drift further and further away

Feel free to add!

[sickficideas]

think about this scene of fizzarolli fainting from hyperventilating almost every day...blitz catching him and asking him if he's okay 😭😭😭

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

31st Story

Part 2

TW: Captivity, implied past torture, blood mention, restraints, mistrust, starvation mention, defiant whumpee, corrupt system, knife

Heyyy! Long-time no see. I blame college 100% because it takes up all my time, seriously. Happy New Year tho 💙

Villain could tell himself he was already used to the cold, hard embrace of the dull rock of his cell, to the claustrophobia-inducing lack of windows, to the fact that the only times he ever got to see the light was when someone walked in to beat him senseless, a feat made incredibly easy with the help of the chains that shackled his wrists and ankles, not allowing for much movement.

He could pretend that being covered in blood and filth, dazed and starving, was nothing to him, that the maddening urge to find out what time it was wasn't gnawing at him torturously.

"In here, wishful thinking is all you are capable of," a sunken-faced, old prisoner had told him before he was thrown into his personal hellhole. He hadn't said anything, but he'd believed the old hag to be weak and hopeless, and thus so was her sentiment.

Right now, all he wondered was if he'd break even faster than that woman might have. The villain screwed his eyes shut, hoping it would stop the chain of thoughts poisoning his mind, but all that did was make him think clearer, every disturbing image he tried so desperately to expel growing clearer and more vivid by the moment.

It was bad enough handling the physical pain, where every time he so much as shifted his form slightly, the tormented muscles in his back would scream in protest. But the physical side was tolerable, compared to being left at the mercy of his mind; a cruel, sinister thing.

So consumed he was in his own reverie, he hadn't even noticed as the door to his cell was unlocked, at least not until the light skirting around the corner had him snapping his eyes open and sitting up.

"This doesn't look good on you," a silky, almost serpentine voice called out.

"Superhero?" he asked, despising the note of trepidation in his voice.

"No. Just her lacklustre twin," she scoffed.

"Vigilante," he deduced with a slight fall of his shoulders in relief. It's not that he believed Vigilante would treat him well, it's just that no one could rival Superhero in cruelty.

"Still ever the genius," she responded dryly.

"What do you want?" he asked, almost desperate. If she was here to torment him, he wanted her to get over with it. It was becoming progressively more difficult to bear the state in which he was in, the one chock-full of waiting and thinning patience, of hoping the pain would start so it could end, that this time would pass faster.

Except it never did.

"It's strange seeing someone normally so high and mighty like this," she attested, dodging his question.

The older version of him would have let out a frustrated snarl and cussed her out for annoying him, but now all he could do was bite his tongue and stare at her with his new resting face, broken and defeated.

"Well, I'm not here to hurt you," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

That was a response, albeit an indirect one. And of course, she wasn't here to hurt him. She was here to make sure he was comfortable, that he was enjoying his five-star stay in this resort in hell.

Sucks to have an army of enemies and not a single semblance of a friend.

He and Vigilante hadn't really had any direct bad blood, but he was a villain locked up in here, so by default, he was supposed to be her enemy, right? It didn't matter who walked in here or whether they knew him or not. They just loved to see him break, to see him, once so relentlessly powerful, reduced to less than nothing. Perhaps it brought them a sort of sick satisfaction, but he didn't know much about satisfaction anymore to judge.

"I'm going to get you out of here," she said casually, like promising him the impossible was some sort of small punishment, nothing to tear himself up about. Maybe she could rival her sister in cruelty.

Without warning, a hysterical laugh escaped his throat, only for him to bite his lip and stop abruptly, trying to clamp a hand over his mouth only for him to remember he was chained up.

Vigilante's face fell, and his own had silent tears streaming down it. He felt as though he couldn't breathe, as though bricks were raining down on his shoulders and crushing his bones into nothing. His whole being seemed to itch with dread.

"Villain?" Vigilante called out, looking a mixture of confused and horrified.

"Just get over with it! Torture me until the floor runs red with my blood, tell me how death is a mercy above vermin like myself, and tell me to take it with a smile. Hit me harder when I can't bring myself to do it. Hit me until I feel all the pain of death but never attain it. Remember my current words as defiance, as another crime I've committed. I think watching me be humbled to the nothing I truly am will entertain you as any show would," he spat, only for regret to colour his features just as fast.

"Damn it. Villain, I don't want to do. . .any of this to you," Vigilante started, careful, trying for a semblance of gentle, something she was never particularly good at. "Like I said, I'm going to get you out of here," she continued again, hoping the stern tone indicated she was serious and not somehow going to torture him.

She'd never particularly liked him, mainly because he'd always been ice-cold, calculated to a point he seemed inhuman at times, no emotion whatsoever showing up on his face, besides a cool smugness. And by virtue of all the terrible things he'd done, all the blood on his hands. And yet, he was far from the worst thing out there, and most definitely not the villain in her story.

"And let's pretend you're telling the truth, which is completely fine by me because any mercy I've ever had here has always been a pretence, a figment of my imagination, you know. What could you possibly gain from this?" He raised an eyebrow, bearing a small resemblance to his usual self. Well, at least there was a slight amount of fight left in him, even if he was clearly holding back tears now.

But the villain's question wasn't completely outlandish. Vigilante did want something from him, but it wasn't a favour he would ever come to hate. "I need your help. My sister may seem like the goddamn tooth fairy to those who don't know better, but we know what her regime is really doing. This isn't about fighting crime, it's about her insatiable addiction to power."

"And where do I belong here?" The villain's voice still held the same disbelieving tone, his shoulders managing to tense even further.

"You're one of the few people who challenged her, Villain. And as much as it pains me to say it, you're a good strategist," she explained, even though she knew she'd barely convinced him in the slightest.

"I can't be the only one fitting that description, but I can be the only one owing you a favour too," he answered. Even if he didn't look half as confident, half as untouchable as before, the criminal was still just as clever. But it also meant he wasn't believing her anytime soon. Still, he wasn't wrong. The villain may not have smelled like roses all the time, but he'd be loyal to make sure they were even; a man of his word.

"What's it gonna be, Villain? Come with me or stay here?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest, growing impatient.

Well, it didn't make sense for her to give him a choice if she was going to torture him, but sense no longer governed things in his mind, letting a fearful apprehension replace it, no matter how humiliating. The choice could easily be an illusion, another cruel joke in this comedy skit from the filthiest parts of hell.

But it could be a chance, and he was desperate. So desperate he'd risk feeling even further degraded when she laughed in his face and put him through whatever torment she'd have planned.

"Fine," he answered, looking up at her with trepidation in his eyes. He could already feel the regret tasting like salt on his tongue and the burn of acid at the back of his throat he recognised as shame.

So when the sound of his chains being unlocked rang in his ears, and the vigilante helped him up, the feeling of surprise was palpable.

"I just need to handcuff you while they can see us," she explained, noticing how slowly the villain nodded, mistrust still burning in his eyes.

She didn't like how weightless he seemed against her, barely able to walk. She hadn't fought him much, but she clearly remembered that while his frame was somewhat slender, the villain's build still used to be athletic. It was no surprise he'd deteriorated, but that didn't make his fate any less cruel.

"I'm moving him to the other facility," she announced, practically dragging the half-starved villain with her, the only response being curt nods from the guards.

They were lucky that no one here would dare question Superhero and by default, her sister, if they could even tell the difference between both.

And sure enough, there was an entry documented into the other facility, done with the help of a few handsomely paid workers. And while Superhero wouldn't buy into the lie for long, it would at least make sure she didn’t notice immediately that something was up.

✨️Break✨️

The drive to Vigilante's house was almost torturously long and reeking of the tension of two people who weren't used to each other. The villain ran his fingers over his wrists, now free of handcuffs, but they still hurt. All of him hurt, a constant, dull pain that he was almost used to, but that didn't mean he didn't miss the times where he could remember moments without aches all over his body.

That was only the least of it anyway.

"I think you'd want to clean up," the vigilante had suggested when they'd got to her house.

Instead of an off-hand "yeah" like he'd meant to, the first words that foolishly came tumbling out of his mouth were: "I can?"

This wasn't an option they gave him back there, and soon enough he'd stopped caring entirely.

"Oh," Vigilante had responded, giving him a solemn look. "I mean, yes, of course you can," she corrected hastily.

He nodded, quite literally shoving himself into the bathroom and swallowing down the awkward shame in his throat.

He'd grown so accustomed to pain that he'd barely even noticed the sting of the hot water on his open, practically fresh wounds, or how the shower water underneath him turned a dull pink. He was a lot more focused on how his sore muscles relaxed with the heat, how he seemed to get lighter with all the dirt off him, good sensations having become foreign to him in the time of his captivity.

He walked out to find a change of clothes (his clothes) on the bed in the room outside, catching his reflection in the mirror, bruises lining his cheekbones and jaw and heavy, dark circles underneath his eyes. The villain simply ignored the old memories of himself taking the time to style his hair and care for his skin, his mind hardwired for survival, looking around the room for anything he could use in case he had to defend himself.

Not that Vigilante was stupid enough for that.

Still, if she wished to hurt him, she could've done it faster, could've done it earlier. Maybe the villain wouldn't trust her blindly, but so far, he hated her less bitterly than he hated everyone else.

"How'd you get these?" he asked, walking out, looking down at the black zip-up hoodie and black sweats.

Vigilante shrugged. "From your place."

"You broke into my- whatever." It wasn't the strangest part about the situation now. "What are we supposed to do?"

"I think you need to rest," she suggested.

And she was entirely correct, given his exhaustion and how the shower had made him somewhat sleepy, so he nodded his head, walking into "his" room and waiting until she walked up to her room, waiting until he could walk out and check if she'd slept, and once he was sure, he walked into the kitchen, picking up a knife and bringing it to his room.

The villain knew it was scummy, but he wasn't about to risk being hurt again, and if the vigilante truly had good intentions, the knife would never be put to use. Still, the villain had managed to fall into a fitful sleep, still better than any night he spent curled up on a cold, hard floor.

Trust is never easy, especially for those who have been hurt one too many times. But people were not made to live forever encased in solitude, a safe option to the blind and foolish, but never a permanent solution. And while taking a risk in times of suffering might seem like a wretched fate, sometimes it is the lifeline you need to breathe again.

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[whumpshaped]

recovery whump; a patient and reassuring caretaker with a whumpee who has separation anxiety <3

i'm sleepy and misread this- for a second i thought you meant medical patient caretaker. i'm gonna roll with it

content: hospital setting, mean nurse, recovery, comfort, separation anxiety

"I really am fine with it," Caretaker said with a pained smile. Whumpee was holding onto them for dear life, and with the wound on their shoulder, it was less than pleasant.

"No," the nurse said firmly. "I don't care whether you're 'fine with it', you go right back to your bed and recover in peace. Whumpee can stay alone for a few days."

Whumpee let out a loud whine, something resembling a plea for Caretaker to stay. Caretaker glanced at them before looking back at the nurse. "Please, miss. I'm sure they would let go of my arm if you just gave your word that I can stay in this bed."

"This is ridiculous!" she snapped.

"They're so scared to be alone, please," they pressed. "I'm sure prying their fingers off would do more damage than good anyway."

The nurse huffed. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Can they come to my bed?"

"No!"

"Can we both sit on the floor?"

"Listen here—"

"There you are," another nurse exclaimed as they barged in. "We have an emergency. Hurry up!"

"We'll come back to this," she hissed before running off in the same direction as her colleague. Caretaker stuck their tongue out at her back.

"You okay?" they asked once they were well and truly alone, pleased to feel Whumpee's grip loosen a fraction. Their little friend nodded mutely, gratitude shining in their eyes. "Good. I'm not leaving your side, okay? I promise."

[whumpneto]

Jamie Dornan as Dr. Leslie Ferrier in A Haunting in Venice (2023)

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1344

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

Whumpee who's just. So numb. So totally incapable of doing... Anything. They have to be bathed, hand-fed, kept in a soft, quiet room with their caretaker. It's the only way they feel safe.